Destiel Ficlets
by Elizabeth1985
Summary: I have been posting little ficlets on Tumblr and decided to group them here. I am rating this T generally, but please please read A/N notes on each fic just in case. Destiel. Fluff. Some Angst. Kissing. Cuteness generally. I may do some minor smuttiness on occasion. And now, apparently tragic angst and death. Sorry 'bout that.
1. Dean and Cas Valentine's Day Ficlet

They were stopped at a Gas'n'Sip to pick up some much needed necessities before their four hour drive to go look into a lead on Abaddon. The entire place looked like it had been barfed all over by Cupid. Red and pink and white everywhere. Chocolates marked up so high it was damn criminal.

Dean rolled his eyes as he practically tripped on an over-sized teddy bear that held a heart-shaped box of chocolates that said "Be Mine" on them.

He used to love Valentine's Day – perfect for picking up chicks. But the last few years he'd come to realize that banging random women just wasn't all that interesting to him anymore. It probably had a lot to do with all the insanity in their lives, but somewhere buried deep, it was more than that. Dean was getting old.

He made a low, annoyed grunt as he threw some protein bars into a bag and turned around the corner to find Cas staring curiously at the endless row of hearts, glitter and stuffed teddy bears. The head tilt in all its glory and Dean sort of grinned in amusement at watching Cas trying to debunk the mysteries of Valentine's Day.

"It's so _commercialized._" The angel said. Dean nodded emphatically. Yes, yes it was.

"I mean… do chocolates encased within an anatomically incorrect heart really say 'I love you' to someone?" Cas asked him in total seriousness.

Dean moved closer, switched the bag he'd been holding into the other hand and grabbed the box that Cas had picked up. Dean placed it back on the shelf.

"_No_. If you…care about someone. You show them by doing things for them, getting them things you know they really like, or I don't know… just making them feel special, I guess." He replied and felt flustered for having gone into such detail, because really, why did it even matter? None of them had anyone '_special_' these days. Dean purposefully ignored the way his heart changed pace as Cas stared at him with interest.

"Anyway… I'm gonna get a few more things and then we're on our way." Cas nodded, looking thoughtful.

Dean forced a smile and walked around to the next aisle to get some drinks and other snacks to hold himself over. When he had gathered everything he wanted he looked around for his friend but couldn't find him anywhere, so he paid for his stuff and walked out back to the car.

Dean was relieved, seeing Cas there waiting in the passenger seat. As he eased into the car and started the engine, he took a moment to glance over at Cas. His friend was sitting there very still with the hint of a small mischievous smile.

"Wanna share what's got you looking so crafty?" Dean asked, raising his eyebrows before backing the car out of the space.

"Nothing, Dean." Cas lied.

"Uh-huh…" He shot back and decided to ignore it.

Two hours later and the two coffee's and Gatorade that he'd drank earlier were pressing against his bladder to the point where it could no longer be ignored. Thank God they were only on some country back road and not the freeway.

He pulled the car off onto a gravel path. Cas looked over at him curiously. "I gotta take a piss." He said.

Cas pressed his lips together and nodded, turning to look out the window at the tall unkempt grass as it rolled by.

Dean drove the car over into the brush a bit, not enough to damage his baby, but enough that it wasn't blocking the makeshift roadway. He jumped out of the car and groaned at the relief from simply standing and having some pressure off of his bladder.

He walked a couple feet into the field and undid his fly to reach inside the front of his boxers to pull himself out. _Ohhhh thank God!_ The relief was immense. He sighed and rolled his head back.

When he was done he shook and tucked away, zipping up carefully and turning back towards the car.

Which Cas was now sitting on the hood of…

"Uhh.. what're you doin' Cas?" he asked gesturing to the angel's lounging position.

Cas looked down at his lap and that's when Dean noticed he was holding a bundle of something wrapped in one of Dean's jackets – the one that _had_ been in the backseat earlier.

"What's that?" He asked, standing to the side of the car.

"it's… ummm.. _here._" Cas said, stretching his arms out to extend the bundle in Dean's direction.

Dean felt like he had stepped into Christmas morning somehow. Cas was _giving_ him something? He almost laughed, but knew Cas would be offended.

Instead Dean eased up onto the hood of the Impala and got comfy before grabbing the Winchester-style wrapped gift.

As he pulled the jacket apart to get to what was underneath, Cas spoke quietly: "You said to get things the person you cared about really liked…."

Dean's hands froze and he tentatively met Cas' eyes. They darted away from him and Dean sort of chuckled awkwardly. "Cas?"

Cas very surreptitiously looked back at him.

"Are you giving me a Valentine's gift?" Dean tried not to smile but in the end his face stretched wide and Cas blushed.

Dean shook his head, not saying anything more as he finished unfolding the jacket.

Inside was a bag from the Gas'n'Sip. Inside the bag made Dean laugh loud. Cas immediately looked worried but Dean slapped a hand on the top of the angel's knee reassuringly.

"Perfect, Cas." He shook his head, still grinning, and eyed his loot. Three different kinds of pie, a porn mag (his favourite), and a box of tissues. With any other person this would have been the weirdest, creepiest thing ever. But with Cas… it was just funny and endearing.

Dean leaned over, wrapping an arm around Cas' shoulders and prepared to pull him in for a one-armed hug. Cas obviously misread the action and planted one right on his mouth.

Stunned was an understatement.

Confused was in there somewhere.

Intrigued? Maybe a little.

Cas lips were warm and pliant against his and Dean's eyes were wide open as he continued to sit there stock still with Cas' lips pressed into him. The angel's eyes were closed but he wasn't doing anything else.

It got awkward real fast.

They pulled away at the same time and stared in a panicky gaze at each other.

"Umm…" Dean said, his hands stretching to an open gesture of '_uhh, what?!'_

"Sorry?" Cas replied on a question, looking the most confused Dean had ever seen.

"Well… that was new." Dean gave a half shrug. Not sure if he was implying he was okay with it or not. Was he?

_What the holy hell?_

"Yes." Cas blurted and then, in a very human way, he fell back against the Impala's windshield and threw an arm over his face.

_Great._ Dean thought. Now he was embarrassed. They were _both_ embarrassed. His skin was tingling and his stomach flopped around like he'd eaten bad meat.

He let out a rush of breath that morphed into a groan as he reached out and pried Cas arm away from his face.

He angled over and peered down at Cas' face. Searching.

He didn't know if he found what he was looking for, Cas gave him no response whatsoever as he blankly stared back.

"So…, yeah?" Dean said stupidly. It made no sense at all, really. He was pretty sure he was asking Cas a pretty deep question here but couldn't bring himself to get beyond…'So yeah?' which was all kinds of pathetic.

The only reaction Dean got was the ever growing look of terror in Cas' blue eyes. Dean got fed-up all of a sudden. Like he said, he was too old for this shit. He dropped down and pressed his mouth against Cas' frozen lips, this time closing his eyes.

It was quick and he pulled up after and opened his eyes to give Cas a hard look. He probably looked annoyed. He kinda was, oddly. "Yeah?" He repeated in a rough way.

Finally Cas nodded and Dean sighed in relief. "Alright, then." He huffed and grabbed Cas face with his free hand and attacked his mouth with zero finesse.

Dean pushed his tongue between those hesitant lips and got right into it, because – at this point? – why the fuck not?

It maybe took a minute for Cas to let go and relax, and only a minute after that for him to become borderline rabid.

They made out with the frantic desperate passion of two teenagers who'd never been felt up before and Dean suddenly burst out laughing.

"Fucking Valentine's day," he said as he shook his head and then resumed making out with his best friend, the _ANGEL, _on the hood of a damn car in the middle of nowhere.

Shove that one on the card rack, _Hallmark_.


	2. Oops, I didn't mean to say that

Sam was looking at him across the table, his mouth a hard line and his brows so close the grand canyon had settled between them. Dean wanted to laugh but the subject wasn't funny.

Dean had slipped up.

For two whole months he'd been doing so good. Acting totally normal, hiding the times he'd slipped out of his room in the middle of the night. The quick reflexes as he'd remembered to retrieve something from the Men of Letters shower room before his brother had gone in there.

In his shock, Dean could hardly remember how it had even come up. Sam had been saying something about how it was nice not to share a motel room as much anymore cause then he didn't run the risk of walking in on Dean jacking off —- which, embarrassingly for both of them – had definitely happened once or twice. Okay, several times, probably.

Of course, idiot that he was, Dean had said that it wouldn't have been a problem lately anyway (referring of course to the fact that getting laid on a regular basis meant he didn't need the hand of solitude).

This ditty was the cause for Sam's constipated look in his direction. "Why?" His brother finally blurted.

"Uhh… just not like that anymore, I guess." He said by way of explanation. Which was retarded. No man was able to go long without a tug (not even Sam). It was like breathing. You felt the thick tight heat in your stomach and released it. Plain and simple.

"Riiight." Sam responded with skeptical lilt of his voice. "What aren't you telling me?" A smile spread across Sam's face.

"Nothing." He lied, scrunching his face in pretend offense.

"Oh my God!" Sam cried. "You're like… sleeping with someone?" He spat out, looking more exhilarated than he should. Ya' know, especially considering they weren't "brothers" anymore, Dean thought bitterly.

"What's it to you, anyway?" He bit back. Sam didn't have the right to press about his personal life anymore. So what if something had happened. What if Dean had found something, held on to it, and maybe been stupid enough to fall in love and let it override his better judgment?

"Dean." Sam stated in a clear voice, reproaching him.

"No. I'm sorry _this_ is a conversation for brothers — which we are not." He said with a fake-ass smile and proceeded to stand up and get the fuck gone.

"Don't do that." Sam said to his back. "You know I still care about what happens in your life."

"Well, fuck Sam, good _for you!"_ Jackass. Dean was pissed. Something about what Sam said, despite attempting to be positive, came across twisted and cruel.

Sam shoved out from the table, standing up, and jutted his chin forward – his mad posture – Dean was quite familiar with it. "You know, I'm trying okay, Dean!" He said his name on a sneer. "You're not being much help. Besides, I'm not the one who screwed up in the first place!"

"I saved your damn life!" Dean yelled back. In what corner of the Universe could saving someone's life ever chalk up to screwing up? Unless it was, like, Hitler or something!

"You shouldn't have! I was supposed to die Dean! People are _supposed_ to die!" Sam argued, temper rising as he skin darkened.

"I get that people die, Sam, I really do. But our family has been railroaded by death! Every single fucking human being I have _EVER_ cared about has been killed except for you and Cas, and you think that that's okay?! What's wrong with you? We've had enough, man! We deserve life and I will fucking see to it that we get that. That we get_more_ than that!" His rant came to a swift end, his angrily gesturing arms dropped to his sides.

Sam was watching him with a new expression. Not anger – more like he'd stumbled across some new discovery.

Dean rolled his eyes heavily, he better not be about to get schooled on some psychoanalytic bull-shit or he was fuckin' gone.

"The only people you care about are me and Cas?" Sam asked, his eyes narrowed and suspicious.

_Well, duh? Where the hell have you been, idiot? You see anyone else hanging around here?_ Dean chattered to himself.

He just stared back, like, '_Yeah, obviously, dumbass…'_

And it happened again… _Fuck! _Dean swore so loud in his head he felt it in his mouth, just about ready to form itself and make noise. Slip-up numero dos. And this was the bitch of them.

"Cas…" Sam said slowly, as if Dean were a child.

"What about him?" Dean shrugged, feigning innocence.

"_Holy fucking hell! Mother of Christ!"_ Sam yelled. A hand came up to slap over his mouth.

… F_ive minutes later…_

Sam was ass first on the ground, holding his sweater over his face in an attempt to stop the blood that was seeping from it.

The younger Winchester was glaring daggers up at Dean. "You friggin' punched me!?" The voice muffled by the cloth.

Dean smiled sheepishly because he did feel pretty bad. He looked over at Cas – who wasn't really looking at him any better than Sam was.

Cas had shown up at the precise moment where Dean had responded to Sam's outburst, by quickly closing the distance, and clocking his brother in the face.

Cas raised his chest in a deep annoyed breath and stalked past Dean, bending down towards Sam and touched a finger to his forehead.

Sam blinked at the change in sensations from pain to painless. He dropped his shirt and stood up. He muttered a thanks but didn't look Cas in the eye. Dean was a little hurt by it.

"What?! Can't look him in the eye anymore? All grossed out are you, now?" The accusation made Sam flinch and startle.

"No… Dean? What are you talking about?" His brother looked directly at Cas and then back at Dean. "I'm happy for you guys. _Really_. And honestly, I'm not even that surprised."

Cas finally clued in to what had happened and nodded in understanding.

"I take it you are aware that Dean and I are… lovers." Dean dropped his head at the term. It was so damned intimate. It felt like Cas was brushing their cocks together just from the very mention of it.

Sam seemed to find amusement in Dean's embarrassment. "Yeah.." He replied grinning widely.

"For how long?" Sam eyebrows were raised with interest.

"Two months." Dean said quietly.

"What?" Sam leaned in.

"Two months." Cas replied loudly in Sam's face.

Dean still had his head down. He didn't know why but the attention was giving him an itch. When he chanced to look up through his lashes, Sam was smiling like he was stoned and Cas was looking at him fondly.

Dean's face grew hot and before he could turn and run, Cas walked over, grabbed his face and laid one on him. Hot and slick, overriding all of his senses.

Cas could do that, he'd learned over time. The angel had been a bit timid at first, but he'd grown cockier each time they were together and now it seemed he was well versed in the subject of making Dean lose his mind.

But in this moment Dean was grateful for the distraction.

When they finally parted – Dean was himself again, he lifted his head and beamed at his brother. _Yes_. His brother. Because Cas hadn't just healed Dean or Sam, he'd healed them both.

The end.


	3. On the Exhale

**A/N: Major character death. Angst. Sadness.**

* * *

The storm door creaks at the hinges as he pushes it open; a whiny groan begging for grease. The elderly man walks through; his hand sliding off the edge to let it swing and bang shut behind him, clanging repeatedly against the wood frame before it settles. The wide orange sun is setting fast over the black treetops; a spiky line that defines the pine forest surrounding his cabin. The warm, vibrant streaks of colour layered across the sky bring to mind a rainbow that's been smudged over by a large hand. Perhaps it was the hand of God, Sam wonders with bitter shaded detachment.

He lowers gingerly into one of the wooden chairs on the small porch, his joints straining in protest from the simple task. The seat creaks under his weight and the sound never ceases to surprise him. He doesn't seem weighted enough anymore to cause strain on furniture, but as it is the noises occur. So many creaks and groans surround him now: the old cabin protesting to the wind, his bones angry from old injuries, and the bowing floorboards under his cold feet. The noises are sad to his ears like a harmony of slow death.

Seventy-two is his age now. It shouldn't be so, he declares internally with a frown that settles more lines into his aged face. How could someone whose lived the life he has, ever make it to such an age; when innocent, fragile passerby's to the underworld of life have been snuffed out by such dull occurrences like mild complication of disease or a Friday morning bike accident? What justice is this?

_It isn't fair._ The words repeat themselves until they became a terrible song inside his head. The song has a base to it, a trembling, jarring ring that he knows is the echo of the only phone he has. In reality, no phone is ringing. He's certain it will never ring again. If it does, he won't be around to hear it.

His thoughts are without direction: the three words and the ringing drowning out the beauty of dusk and so he closes his eyes to break the cycle. The fragile thin lids tremble as they try in vain to hold everything inside of him.

Other noises return to the forefront of his mind and they are not ones he is ready to face. '_Hello?'_ The voice had been deep though it was no longer familiar to him. '_I'm calling about your brother.' _He should have recognized it, but it had changed so much over the years with age and sadness, '_He's gone, Sam,' _and decades had passed since they'd seen each other. '_I thought you should know.'_ The voice had said at the end of the call. _At the end. It was the end._ Was this true? Did he have a right to that knowledge after so long?

He's not spoken to his older brother in nearly forty years. The voice on the phone, not by its familiarity or lack thereof, but the simple knowledge of to whom the voice belongs stirs a wealth of memories in him; every one is painful and horrific. It isn't a shock that it was him who would deliver such a call in the end; for who else would have been there for his brother's last breath on earth? Some, in the past, would have said himself.

They would have been wrong.

A flock of birds suddenly make a loud, hasty escape from the west end of the clearing; no doubt startled by an unseen predator. Sam watches their black shapes tear across the sky in search of safety. The colours of the ceiling that covers the earth are fading into darkness, all the warmth leaching away to be replaced by a bone-deep chill. The night is coming in swiftly and Sam feels no desire to retreat into the confines of his cabin. He prefers instead to watch as the shadows creep over him. To be swathed in darkness is not an unfamiliar feeling. Nor is the weight in his palm, its heft and solidity; the cold metal warmed by his thin, wrinkled skin.

_I wasn't there for you,_ he confesses in a silent prayer. _I left you and it has always been my deepest regret_. The weight is lifted, but not the one in his heart. The pressure against his temple is an apology.

_It's okay Dean, I'll see you soon. _

_…_

Birds and four-legged creatures scatter frantically at the shot that pierces the darkening landscape. The sharp crack of the gun echoes long and loud for nearly a half minute before the stark silence takes over. The return of the calm is eerie, as though the very essence of nature has felt the loss. The stillness suspends in the forest, paused like a breath being held.

The last of the light descends over the horizon, casting the Angel's view into various shadows and uncertain shapes. He stands on the western edge of the clearing with a solemn expression, worn by a face he hasn't assumed in many long years. Lines have been erased, smoothed out by the return of his grace. A part of the Angel worries that with the lines, memories, too, will soon disappear. He holds them tightly to his heart, just in case.

_The Winchester's are in heaven,_ the Angel says to God, his fingertips brushing the worn fabric of his coat as they bunch into hard fists. His Father does not reply, nor has he ever.

A long human life has been spent here on earth. _Here_, with his charge; his companion; and in the end, the one person he vowed to love forever – not that there was ever really an alternative. A palm to shoulder so long ago had sealed that fate. Strange that such a profound beginning began in the midst of blood and fire. The return of affections was merely an unexpected, glorious gift that he still finds hard to believe after all this time. That love is now a tangible weight in his soul, embedded in the very essence of his grace and he will carry it with him for eternity or until his death. As wondrous as his fortunes became, his regrets tug hard during his ruminations.

Throughout the life that he was graciously given (or ungraciously as is this case), the Angel vehemently tried to repair the wounds and scars that went unseen between the brothers; the _deep_ cuts that had fixed and rutted themselves into geographical and perpetual separation. His efforts notwithstanding, he had failed them alive. Finally, in death they will become family once again; surrounded by those they've lost and missed.

Whole again. _Together._

In the eyes of any other Angel, the result would be considered a success. Against all odds, he has managed to protect those he was commanded to keep safe and to see them unto heaven at their respective ends. The remarkably quiet, uneventful ends that they were. C_onsidering_.

As it should be.

In the quiet border of the woods with the smell of pine and damp earth in his nose, he feels anything but successful. He feels alone and bereft. The story of the Winchesters is over and one day it will form the words of a new gospel. But all too soon another story will take shape; with new villains and new heroes that will decide the course of the earth – but the Angel will have no place in it. Unable to return to the home he was born to, and unwilling to go back to the one that he shared with another, his purpose now shall be to move unseen through humanity and provide assistance in whatever ways he can. He will bring peace and happiness to those who deserve it as a balance to his grief.

He takes one last look at the cabin, his old coat blowing back in the breeze, and feels the light stretch inside of him, the feeling peculiar and forgotten. The Angel unfurls his spine and lets his wings spread out behind him. A breeze passes through the trees like a breath of nature. On the exhale, he is gone.

* * *

**A/N: Dark look at the end of their story. Had this in my head since last Friday. **

**Again, for those following my other fics, I am working on them but feeling a bit of writer's block on those stories. Sorry :)**


	4. Dean and Cas Texting (Spoilers Beware)

**A/N: In my head... this is actually happening right now :)**

* * *

Dean: Hey Cas, you there?

Cas: Hello Dean.

Dean: So, how's the angel stuff going?

Cas: I… I killed Bartholomew

Dean: Fuck! Wasn't he the guy using that Buddy Boyle wiener to hijack bodies for angel use?

Cas: Yes.

Dean: You wanna tell me what happened?

Dean: Are you ok?

Cas: I'm fine. It's fine. Some of his followers now seem to think I can lead them.

Cas: Dean, I can't lead anyone. Not again. I don't know what to tell them.

Dean: Don't worry, we'll figure something out. Are they like attached to you at the hip or something?

Cas: Why would they be attached to my body?

Dean: Sometimes man… nm. Are they with you now?

Cas: No, I sent them to seek safety until I can figure things out. But I wo

Dean: wo? Wo what?

Cas: I meant to delete that. I don't like these phones.

Dean: What were you going to say?

Cas: Nothing.

Dean: Liar.

Dean: Please tell me.

Cas: I would rather be there.

Dean: So come home

Dean: Don't even argue

Dean: Get on a bus or something. Steal a car.

Dean: Steal a pimp car ;)

Cas: Dean…

Dean: Cas…...

Cas: Are you mocking me?

Dean: Yes, now get ur ass home.

Cas: OK.


	5. Dean and Cas Texting & More

**A/N: So I started this on Tumblr, mainly to overcome writers block for my other fics, and then someone asked me to continue and so I did. I do not plan on continueing this any time soon so it is staying in the ficlet collection for now. Not sure if 7k words counts as a ficlet but ah well. It's not smutty or fluffy. It is angst and freakin' dark.** **THIS IS NOT RELATED TO THE OTHER TEXTING FICLET.**

**Warnings: Dark, minor sexual content, drugs, drinking. **

* * *

Cas: Dean?

Dean: Dude, it's three in the morning

Cas: My apologies. It is the evening where I am.

Dean: Where are you?

Cas: On the west coast trying to decide what to do.

Dean: Decide what to do with what?

Cas: Angels. I don't know how to fix this Dean.

Dean: I know Cas. We'll figure it out. Try not to worry.

Dean: What are you doing right now?

Cas: Sitting and messaging you

Dean: Where exactly?

Cas: On a rock in the woods, why?

Dean: Why are you in the woods?

Cas; It's quiet here.

Dean: Makes sense. Why don't you lay down and close your eyes for a while. Tune everything out. It helps

Dean: For me anyways.

Cas: Talking to you helps.

Dean: Thx. Same.

Cas: How are you?

Dean: Fine.

Cas: You're lying.

Dean: What do you want me to say?

Cas: the truth.

Dean: Trust me. You don't want to hear it.

Dean: Cas?

Cas: I'm trying to figure out how to tell you that I'm always willing to hear anything you have to say. That it doesn't matter what it is.

Cas: When will you learn that nothing you could ever do would tarnish our relationship.

Dean: Relationship?

Cas: Is that not the most appropriate description? Would you prefer bond or friendship? I no longer feel either of those fits quite right. It's confusing.

Dean: Cas please stop writing.

Cas: ?

Dean: You really wanna know what's going on?

Cas: yes

Dean: Well… Sam hardly speaks to me. I hate myself for what I put him through and I hate that this damn bunker feels fucking stifling all the time. We're not getting anywhere with Abbadon. Gadreel is still out there. You're gone and doing whatever with angels. I feel fucking shitty and I know it pisses you off when I say stuff like that, you look at me all full of pity but what do you expect? I've fuckin ruined everything. Everyone is dead. Sam's basically a ghost and you're… not here.

Cas; Do you want me to be there?

Cas: I mean, consistently?

Dean: yes

Cas; Go back to sleep Dean.

Dean: Why?

Cas: Please.

Dean. K…

/\

Dean places his phone on the nightstand and lies back down. He feels uncomfortable and unsure about that conversation. In person there's always an unspoken line between them. But like his prayers, Dean feels easier talking when people aren't looking at him. He has no idea what to expect after that. He slowly falls back asleep, taking a long thirty minutes to get there.

When his dream starts, he finds himself sitting on the hood of his car with a cold beer in his hand. Nice and normal.

"Hello Dean." Cas says coming up along the side of the car.

Dean's eyes widen in shock. "Are you real?"

"Yes. Why else did you think I asked you to fall back asleep?" Cas narrows his eyes at him, the gesture is amused as Cas reaches into the cooler for a beer and then comes to sit beside him.

"I didn't think you could do this anymore, so I thought you were, I dunno, tired of talking to me." Cas shakes his head with a smile.

"Did I not literally just tell you that I'm always willing to talk to you?" Cas asks him, teasing.

"Well then why haven't you done this before?! You've been gone for like weeks!" Dean exclaims, his arms going up, the beer nearly sloshing out.

"You never liked it when I was in your dreams before, so I stopped." Cas replies mundanely, taking a sip of his beer. He lets his arm drop and then looks at the beer with idle fascination.

"Does it not feel silly drinking alcohol in a dream?" Cas asks, turning to look at him.

"Taste's good to me" He says.

Cas nods and gives an acknowledging hum but says nothing and keeps drinking.

The quiet stretches for a long time. It is a companionable silence and Dean feels calmer than he has in over a week.

"This is nice." He says appreciatively.

"Yes." Cas smiles at him as he brings the edge of the bottle to his lips, blinking as he drinks. Dean has never really watched the angel drink before and it looks funny, seeing him be casual that way.

"What?" Cas asks, smirking and amused.

"You. Drinking beer. Being all human and everything. It's funny." Dean says and Cas frowns.

"Are you making fun of me?" Cas asks, holding his beer tight.

"No.. no. Not at all. I like it." He remedies, eyes softening to observe his friend.

"Everything feels backwards, doesn't it?" Cas says out of nowhere. It's cryptic and Dean isn't sure how to respond, so he takes another sip.

"What do you mean?" He asks holding his beer in his lap.

"Angels on earth, the King of Hell being of assistance, you and Sam hardly speaking, me wanting to forget the troubles of the angels entirely and spend all of my time with you." Cas finishes speaking and turns away immediately, as though he rambled into unchartered territory.

Dean stares at him, waiting for Cas to face him before he speaks. Cas takes a while, but eventually turns his head back, his blue eyes finding Dean's.

"Can I ask why?" He throws it out there and wishes he could get wasted before this conversation has a chance to continue because he knows where it's going. He can lie to himself all he wants, but that doesn't mean he's stupid. He knows exactly why things are the way they are between them. He can sing denial forever or he can just bite the bullet because with all the shit going on with Sam, he can't stand anymore tension.

"Why do you bother asking when you already know?" Cas asks calmly, observing him with a sad smile. It's almost like the angel is saying ,'_What does it even matter?' _and Dean doesn't know the right way to react to that. He's not ready to discuss the 'what to do we do now' talk before they'd even had the 'what is going on' talk. One step at a time. One very weird, awkward step at a time.

"Humour me." He says.

"You're being a masochist." Cas' tone is reproaching, his eyes hard and defensive.

"You're right, things are backwards. Here I am – being the one to want to talk about shit and you're just sitting there stone-cold ignoring it. Did it ever occur to you that I am sick of ignoring it? Whatever the fuck _it _is?" Dean says rudely, tempted to force himself to wake up. Maybe he isn't as ready for this as much as he'd like to have thought.

"You're frustrated and you are taking it out on me, or us, whatever and forgive me if I don't feel like being used as another way for you to feel like shit about yourself." Cas snaps back at him.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Dean asks, blindsided by the anger in Cas' voice.

"You actually expect me to believe this would be a real conversation? You're bringing it up so that you can shut it down, rationalize it as something that doesn't matter, can't matter – all so you can leave here feeling like justifiable poison." Cas lips shut down tight. Dean stares at him wide-eyed, uncertain of what to say.

Was that why he was doing this? He didn't think so. If he was being honest though, where would this conversation have gone? Probably nowhere – not with the way they lived. So what was the point? To hurt them both? To make things unbearably uncomfortable and awkward?

"I just need to know. I need to know I'm not crazy. We're both on the same page right? I mean, the '_whatever-the-hell' _it is we're talking about – we both know what that is right?" His words hardly make sense and he isn't sure Cas will understand what he needs to know. That confirmation that sits there on the edge of reality. Wavering, not quite real yet. He's nervous and terrified and embarrassed. Cas was right, he was a masochist.

Dean refuses to open his mouth again, worried more bull-shit or crazy will spill out of it. Instead he waits to see if Cas will reply; will give him that assurance. That after all this time, maybe it's not just him. Maybe—

"Yes." Cas says quietly, pulling him out of the downward spiral. Dean snaps his eyes over to Cas. The angel turns to look at him, the longing he sees in those perfectly shaded eyes is like a knife to the gut. He knows it's hurting Cas to admit it. It hurts him to hear it.

The stare at each other for an indefinite amount of time, neither is sure where to go from here. Suddenly Dean becomes vivid again, pulling out of his placid state.

"Is that why you asked whether I wanted you home?" The word home sends a shiver down his spine because he's aware of the way he said it implies that it belongs to both of them because that is truly the way he sees it. Except he's never said it aloud before, not to Cas.

Cas purses his lips and turns away, staring off into the distance. He replies without facing Dean. "Is my being there really a good idea?"

Dean is suddenly worried of the very real possibility that he's just broken something. That Cas will never return now that this is relatively out in the open. God, what has he done? He drops his face in his hands, grieving at the loss he's created. Why does he always break everything he touches?

A warm solid weight settles on his shoulders and he doesn't need to look to know it's Cas' hand.

"Dean?" Cas tugs on his arm, trying to pull him back.

"I'm sorry… I'm so sorry. I don't want it to be like this." He rambles through his hands, his voice muffled and strained. The burn behind his eyes is a threat he really doesn't want to deal with on top of everything else. He caused this so he doesn't have the right to be the one to get upset and have Cas comfort him – its selfish and he needs to fix it somehow, but he doesn't know where to start. He needs a rewind button as bad as he needs his next breath – which are also getting hard to come by if the constriction in his lungs is anything to go by.

"Dean, relax. We're fine." Cas assures him, gripping his shoulder tight in an attempt to give him something to latch onto.

"I should never have pushed it. I've been on edge, torn up inside with everything with Sam and you being gone, and I just snapped. I shouldn't have said anything. I don't want to hurt you. I don't know what to do, I don't know what I can do, I don't—"

"—Dean." Cas cuts in hard now, forcibly turning Dean's body and pulling his arms away from his face, then grabbing it to keep it facing him. Dean can hardly look him in the eye. He's gone over that line now. It would have been okay if there was something on the other side of the line to get to, but he knows there isn't, that there can't be.

"It doesn't have to be this way." Cas suggests apprehensively, testing Dean's boundaries, his resolve. And, more or less, his self-worth.

"How can it be any other way?" Dean counters, gesturing wide in an effort to gather up all the fucking nutballs that sums up their lives.

"Why does it have to be either or?" Cas replies, his fingers starting a gentle caress where they touch Dean's check and neck. It's distracting because it's so new and undeserved. Dean wants to brush them off but he can't bring his arms up to do it.

"Cas.." Dean says in warning, shaking his head to get control of himself. Cas senses his doubt, his hesitation in that carefully constructed determination, and he seizes it, rushing forward quick to close the distance. His hands holding Dean's face in place so he can't move and then Cas' lips crash against his, and his brain simply blanks.

He doesn't respond or reciprocate – he can hardly think. It's everything he never allowed himself to want – or even consider as possible.

A headache blooms and his lungs seize and he realizes he hasn't breathed in nearly a minute, he opens his mouth to drag in a breath and Cas angles and deepens the kiss with his tongue, warm in Dean's mouth and Dean sucks in a breath straight from Cas' mouth. A strange part of him thinks he might pass out, but of course this is a dream – so technically he's already unconscious.

His tongue laps out to touch Cas', entirely against his will – which is failing him rapidly. Traitorous body. He breathes in quick pants through his nose and feels his body surge in heat, blooming in a flush sweat from head to toe.

Cas hands slide down his body, touching him in a way he never has and Dean snaps back.

His eyes wide and scared, looking at Cas whose completely taken aback by the abrupt stop.

"I can't." His voice shakes as bad as a dying man's last breath, barely audible, and he forces himself to wake up before Cas can say anything else.

As Dean sits up in bed, shaking, aroused, and feeling sick to his stomach, he rolls over to the sound of his phone binging on a new message.

**Cas: I've decided not to give up on this.**

**Cas: Even if you have.**

Dean doesn't fall back asleep that night. Instead, he wanders into the main room and drinks hard. Like everything else, he's broken this too.

**/\**

The next morning Dean finds himself draped over the large chair at the back of the main room – one leg hanging over the arm, the other stretched out towards the floor, and his head hanging backwards off the other armrest. The empty bottle of Whiskey is cradled into his chest, his phone at the far end of the table. He's barely awake, drunk still, and stubbornly refusing to fall back asleep. He finds it _almost_ funny that it is impossible to ignore someone that can take a little dream-walk in your noggin whenever they please.

_Fuckin' angels…_

"Dean?" Sam asks skeptically from wide arch near the hall. "What are you doing?" His brows all scrunched together as he takes in Dean's pitiable condition.

"I'm having a drink, Sam." Dean replies with an insolent tone.

Sam cranes his neck and scoffs, "Yeah, I think you're done, man."

Dean grunts and shuffles into a more traditional sitting position, the bottle loosely held in his fist. His vision swims and the headache that's taken over business upstairs is pounding fierce against his skull. He rubs a hand over his face, feeling the extra day of scruff, and tries to wake up.

He hears a subtle hard drag from the table and looks up to see Sam raising his phone.

"Put that down." Dean's voice sounds as scratchy as 80-grit sandpaper.

"Dean… you have, like, eight messages from Cas." Dean sees Sam about to swipe his thumb to open them and he stands, managing not to fall. "Don't Sam, just leave it be."

His brother pauses, his thumb hovering over the screen and his eyes turn to Dean in keen observation, "What happened? You guys get in a fight or something?" He asks.

Dean snorts a bitter laugh and walks the length of the table and snatches his phone back. "Forget it." He says tiredly, bringing a hand up to rub at his eyes that feel swollen.

"You can talk to me, you know." Sam says behind him quietly, his words reluctant. Dean laughs another bitter-sounding noise.

"Uh-huh. Strictly business, right Sammy?" He reminds his 'hunting partner'.

Sam says nothing.

"That's what I thought." Dean replies, his lips curling with distaste. He rubs his eyes again, trying to get rid of the pain behind them that won't go away.

"I'll be in my room." He leaves and heads down the hall.

Once in his room, Dean closes the door and leans against it, " 'the fuck?" he asks himself. Dean is itching to beat the shit out of something right now and if he could do it to himself, he would. They've got no case, no fucking leads at all. All he can do is sit on his goddamned ass and he hates it.

He crosses the short distance to his bed and sits down resting his elbows on his knees and bringing one hand to prop up the heavy weight of his head.

Dean feels the hard lump of the phone in his right hand. He looks at it, chewing on his lip as he decides whether to read the messages or simply delete them. He knows he's making it worse. It's one thing to cross that line, and then another to be a dick about it. But what else can he do? He was stupid to let this become another weakness – nothing more than another tool for the enemy to use. If Cas ever died because of this…

Dean's eyes cinch shit, his head throbs and he grips the phone tight enough that it creaks in protest.

He makes a snap decision, his head-supporting hand gives him a few slaps on the cheek to pull himself together and he quickly unlocks his phone. He pauses to look at the door for a second and then drops his gaze to the screen and reads…

**Cas: Dean?**

**Cas: Please don't ignore me.**

_Awesome_. Now he feels worse. _You deserve it, _he reminds himself_._

**Cas: Fine, then listen. I know you see relationships as weaknesses and I can sympathize. But Dean. You are WRONG.**

**Cas: On that note, so is Sam. Not that I am taking sides here… but anyway.**

Dean breathes a small laugh and shakes his head.

**Cas: I don't want to argue or debate right or wrong, good decisions or bad. Mostly because your obnoxiously stubborn and it would be a purposeless endeavour on my part. Instead.**

**Cas: Instead.. picture it. That is all I ask. Imagine it. Take a moment to wonder. Dean, it's sometimes all I can think about. I can see it on you too. You don't think I notice when your mind wanders, I know you think I'm oblivious to many things. I assure you I am not. I've just found that. .**

**Cas: If I pretended to not be aware, maybe? I don't know. Maybe it would be easier.**

**Cas: You are continuing to ignore me so I guess I'll leave you be for now.**

There are no other messages from Cas. No missed calls. The messages stopped at about six a.m – so it's been four hours since the last message.

Dean gets lost in stillness, staring at the floor. He doesn't spend the time thinking about it – he has already. He's spent years thinking about it. Always pulling thoughts out of that iron thick safe buried deep. Of course, that had been different.

The many times he'd fallen asleep wondering what being in bed with him would be like, wondering how it feel to be able to wrap his arms around his best friend without holding back everything inside. He'd only ever thought about it from a distant place in the fantasy world. Dean buried that shit deep – never allowing it to surface where it could fuck with his head, or cause him to make bad decisions.

_Fuck…_ now the whole goddamned vault had sprung a leak, his thoughts spread out like a virus changing every preconceived notion of his life.

_Imagine it_… the words coming back to him slow, teasing like the offer of cocaine. Which he'd done once on a whim – solely to see what it was like.

Whether it's the alcohol or his exhaustion, he's not sure, but for some reason he allows himself to wonder. To truly think about it. Even if it's just to let himself indulge in the idea of being happy. Pretending that he doesn't have to save the world from itself every six months. Imagining the bizarre concept of walking into his room and not being alone. Having someone there when he can't stand his own thoughts. Having that someone be his best friend. The one person who forgives him of everything, even though he doesn't deserve it.

He lays back on the bed, letting the images wash over him. He pictures Cas' body coming up to his after a hunt, their ramped up and can't hold back. He remembers Cas kissing him in the dream, how good it felt to feel the warmth of his lips on him. Cas had never felt more alive to Dean than he did in that moment, so close. Where he could feel everything, smell him, touch him…

Dean jolts awake, startled and disoriented. The inside of his mouth is dry as cotton and legs are cramping from they're still hanging from the end of the bed. He doesn't even remember falling asleep. One look at his phone that is still miraculously in his hand and he sees Cas hasn't written anything else. He's also slept half the day away.

He's sick of his own brain now. Tired of thinking about what he knows he can't have. What he shouldn't have even started wanting in the first place.

"Cas…" He groans in sharp frustration as he sits up, unable to come to terms with the turmoil in his head. His phone bings and his eyes narrow suspiciously at it, seeing a new message.

**Cas: So… I can still hear you when you pray to me.**

Dean silently curses himself. _Christ, you can be an idiot._ He glares at the phone debating whether he should write back. Maybe he's over thinking it – all of it. Maybe he's just being a bitch? He brings the phone up to his mouth and taps it against his lips as he thinks on it some more. _Fucking make a decision already…_ his brain shouts. Do it, or don't. Those are the only options you have. Sitting on the fence is only going to make it worse.

Dean doesn't text back. Instead, he continues praying. It feels easier and more natural. Besides, the hangover running through his head and stomach has made his hands weak and the idea of operating a touch screen with any level of accuracy will only result in anger and the need for a new phone once he'd thrown this one against the wall.

He holds the phone between his hands, the strange object between his flattened palms against each other. He struggles with what to say.

_It's terrifying_, he admits, _to be… not weak – s'not what I mean. Vulnerable, maybe? _

_And yes, I've thought about it. I think about it. Fuck… Cas, you don't even know. God, you'll never know. I don't know how to do this. Don't think I can. Look what happened to Lisa and Ben._

_How can you expect me to think everything will be okay?_

The screen on his phone lights up with a new message, he opens his eyes to look at it.

**Cas: It probably won't.**

_You would make a really shitty salesman. I need to know you won't die because of me._

**Cas: I can't promise you that. I would die for you.**

_Cas… don't. Don't say that. No one should die for me. It's been done already and I'm not worth it. Believe me, I know._

**Cas: You're fucking stupid.**

_Jesus, Cas, tell me what you really think. _Dean is shaken by Cas' resolve and brazen attitude. It's unlike him and Dean wonders just how much he's been holding back all this time. His phone goes off again and he looks down, only to have his mouth drop and his eyes blink a few times as though each time he expects to open them and see something different.

**Cas: I'm in love with you. It's exhausting trying to pretend I'm not.**

**Cas: I gather those types of things aren't meant to be said through a text.**

**Cas: Dean?**

_Still here. Sort of. Sorry._

Their strange way of communicating hits a pause, the air crackling with static between them. And such a large amount of air that it is, hundreds of miles of it. _I'm a coward,_ he realizes. Cas deserves better.

_Fuck._

_Cas. Deserves. Better._ He repeats to himself slowly.

Better_. Better than me._

Dean sits still for several minutes, bracing himself; feeling his stomach twist and then the worlds tumble – brick after brick, he rips the building to pieces.

_I'm not what you need. You don't know what you want. Not really. I'd ruin everything. Even if the world wasn't such a shithole, I'd ruin us. I'm sorry, but you deserve better. _

_I don't want to lose what we already have and I do want you here. I want you on hunts, but that's it. That's all I've got. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Cas._

_You don't… I'm sorry._

Dean can't bring himself to say anything else. He promptly turns his phone off so he can't see the result of what he's done.

_Oh fuck... what have I done? _Dean's heart is seizing tight against his ribcage, like it's not in the right place. Maybe it's dying. He looks down at the mark on his arm, staring at it.

"Fuck! Get out of your head!" Dean grunts out loud, running his hands hard over his head, tempted to unload some lead into it – ya' know – just for fun. He looks at the phone once before tossing it behind him on the bed and gets the hell out of this room. With its fucking queen size bed and double nightstands. It's a fucking crime scene now, and he's the murderer making a hasty escape.

When Dean finds himself in the hall, he shuts the door, holding onto the handle a bit longer than necessary. He has a strange thought that he might not come back to it. Is this really even home anymore?

Home means family… he doesn't have that here. Or anywhere, for that matter. It's his fault anyway. Sam's been telling him, he should have listened. '_You think you're doing more good, but you're not.'_

"Dean?" Sam calls to him from the other end of the hall, Dean looks up and waits for Sam to say something else.

"Cas called." Dean looks down at Sam's hands but doesn't see a phone. "Uhh… he's not," Sam extends his empty hands. "He just called to tell me to tell you that 'you're doing it to yourself'." Sam quotes and then makes a face that invites an explanation.

"You were wrong, Sam." Dean says monotonously. "You said I was selfish." He clarifies and Sam continues to listen. "If I were selfish, my life would look a lot fucking different." Dean concludes, his tone turning wry.

He walks the length of the hall, Sam's eyes following his every step until he needs to stop because of the giant tree in his way. He glares up at his brother – aware that his eyes appear lifeless.

"I'm going out." He states expectantly; waiting for Sam to move.

Sam hesitates as he considers whether he's gonna say something or not, Dean keeps the hard stare in place like a challenge. Sam's eyes drop down in defeat and he shifts to the side to let Dean pass by. Dean walks quickly by the map table and grabs his keys and leaves.

An hour later, Dean's found the perfect place. Not some nice, twenty's-something type of bar, but a real skeavy place. The kind where, whatever you're looking for, you'll find it here – even with the sun only starting to set moments ago. It's exactly where he needs to be. He fits right in, too.

Dean foregoes the bar and heads to the back to sit at one of the high tables by the back door. There's not as many people in this corner and Dean doesn't want to be bothered unless it's by the right type of company.

The waitress with the short, light brown crop of hair comes by and takes his order of six shots and a beer. She doesn't bat an eye which just goes to show this place is right up his alley.

She's quick and sets everything on the table in front of him. "You lookin' for anything else this evening?" She asks in a polite but hard voice. She's seen some shit, he can tell. Which is sad – she doesn't look a day over thirty-five. _I hear ya, sister. _

"What else you sell here?" He asks.

She nods in understanding. "Whatever you want." She's all business now, right to the point and he can appreciate that. _All business, right Sammy?_

"Going for a solo kinda pick-me-up, or maybe a little company? Hell, we can do both for a discount." She taps her fake nails on the table, and he meets her brown eyes.

He'd planned on the second, but the temptation is too much and so he chooses option C. _If I'm sinking this far tonight, I might as well hit the bottom_, he reasons as he shoots back the burning liquid, draining their tiny glasses.

Forty minutes, and _several_ tiny glasses emptied later, he's presented with skin and a ready-to-go attitude. Long blonde hair, wavy – lots of makeup – and clothes that are doing a terrible job of clothing anything. He takes a minute before he looks more closely – good, not blue.

Dean nods to the door and the woman slips something in his palm that he doesn't even ask what it is. He pops it in his mouth and chases it down with the last of his beer.

"Let's go." He says, standing up and she's on him already. Hands rubbing up and down his arms, saying dirty things he's not paying attention to. He can feel whatever he just took buzzing through his veins already and it lifts the heavy weight from his chest. Dean's head falls back in relief, the feel of small hands on his chest brings his view back down where it pauses sharply midway.

To the far left of the bar Cas is standing like an island amidst the bar-goers, motionless, his hands in his pockets as he watches them. His blue eyes, even from this distance Dean can see are flooded with pain. Dean pretends that the sight doesn't make his heart sputter like it's run out of gas. He grits his teeth and glares at the angel. _Yeah, take it all in, Cas. This what you want? _He asks bitterly. Not sure if Cas is listening, not sure if he's praying or talking to himself.

The blonde rubs a hand discreetly over his crotch and he looks down at her, forgetting she was even there. She startles from the hard look in his eyes but recovers quickly – ever the expert.

"Let's go outside baby." She hums, and pulls him towards the door. The drug is setting in and he follows her without looking back.

In the darkened alley, he's pressed against the wall. The feeling drudges up a flash of memory. Another wall... another body up against his own. A groan escapes his lips as he remembers the hard lines of another body.

"God, you're so much hotter than my usual clients." She flirts as she undoes his fly with her short purple nails. If only she knew how wrong she was, she wouldn't be so eager. She'd probably run screaming.

She runs her hands down his chest and abs before getting lower and touching him bare. Dean closes his eyes as though it can block everything out and leave only the weightless drug and the touch on his skin. Except with his eyes closed, the touch is dealt by another hand and his lids flash open; his vision swims trying to right itself and he languidly peers down as she strokes him, reminding himself whose hands are on him, and whose aren't.

Dean let's his head fall to the side, eyes open but unable to watch the trainwreck. His breathing catches as he realizes Cas didn't leave and he's standing twenty feet down the alley.

The angel looks like he might vomit or kill Dean with his bare hands. Dean can only muster a blank stare back. There's a hum under his skin that tingles and everything is turning sideways. It's distracting enough that his brain can't process what he's doing.

"Hey baby, you want more or what? You didn't say." The hooker asks him and he almost laughs.

"Yes." He says to both of them. "I want more." His eyes fixate on the man farther away than the women with her face an inch from his dick.

Cas blinks, confused and wary of Dean's words and the way his eyes are glazed but stuck on him. The confusion switches to anger and disgust the second Dean feels wet heat surround his cock.

He's pretty sure she gave him ecstasy because even though his insides feel like rotten garbage, his cock is hard and ready to go, his abs tightening in pleasure. Well... at least one of us is into this. He hates himself for this, but it's just par for the course. Cas needs to see that.

_I'm not what's good for you. I've never been… _

The blonde – _not_ blue-eyed – chick deep throats and he comes which is weird because he barely feels it. Dean sort of feels sick actually – like his cock threw up, maybe. _Great_, he thinks. My own dick is disgusted with me. _Awesome. _

She's saying something but he isn't paying attention, his head is hanging to the side, his eyes fixed on the dumpster across the alley. It's green and covered in patches of rust. Her voice gets louder and Dean is tempted to tell her to fuck off, but she shouldn't have to deal with his shit so he keeps his mouth closed.

Dean pulls some money out of his pocket and passes it off to her. She's quick to disappear after that. He's alone, sort of.

He hears the soft thud of shoes over asphalt and closes his eyes and waits for the wrath of God. Or in this case, God's little soldier. Which may very well be worse.

"Do you think I haven't already seen the worst of you?" Cas asks softly. Though maybe he's yelling, the waning influence of the drug makes it hard to tell.

"You don't know the worst." Dean replies, tapping his forehead.

"I know everything Dean." His voice is so certain. So confident. God, how can he be so sure?

"Just leave." Dean says without looking. He doesn't hear anything for a long time. When he chances to open his eyes, he's completely alone.

**/\**

Dean goes back into the bar a few minutes later. The drug is rapidly wearing down, barely lasting an hour and when he sits down at the bar, he orders only a beer. He hadn't meant for Cas to show up. This wasn't what he wanted to happen. But now that it had, maybe Cas would get it finally. Maybe he'd realize the Dean wasn't right in the head. No wonder all his relationships went to shit.

The stool to his right scrapes the ground as it's pulled out. A large body sits down as his neighbour pulls the stool close to the bar in the same motion. Dean knows its Sam without looking. He's terrified to find out what Sam knows.

Sam orders some light beer. Dean takes a sip of his, waiting for his brother to speak. When the beer is placed on a cardboard coaster, Sam angles towards him slightly.

"What's goin' on Dean?" Sam asks in a serious, low voice that barely carries over the TV's and the other bar chatter.

"I shattered a lie." Dean speaks with the bottle close to his lips. He takes a sip, the cold fizz running down this throat feels refreshing.

Sam stares at him trying to figure out what he means.

"Dean," Sam begins after several minutes, "I'm still your brother." Dean frowns but doesn't warrant that with a reply. A derisive snort is only barley contained.

"I'm sorry." Sam voice is heavy with emotion. He's looking down at the bottle in front of him as he picks at the label with his fingernail.

"For what?" He asks tartly.

"For saying we're not brothers. You _are_ my brother. I mean, you just don't know how to play the role right."

For the first time since Sam arrived Dean turns to glare at him, his lips pulls up at the corner, piqued and affronted.

"But it's not your fault." Sam continues, "it's dads." His voice is so solemn. "And maybe…I dunno, Dean, maybe we don't get to be normal brothers." Sam takes a sip slowly, resting the beer carefully in the center of the coaster, holding it solid in his big hands. Their quiet for a while after that.

"I love you Dean." Sam says without looking and Dean's brain can barely register, no wait, barely _fathom_ what his brother has said. Dean can't even remember the last time either of them said it. Dean's eyes fall shut and their burning behind his lids and he bites the inside of his bottom lip to try and pull himself into one piece.

When he feels about as held together as though the cracks had been filled with Elmer's Glue, he lets out the breath he'd been holding.

Facing his beer, he says, "I love you too, Sammy." His fucking hands are shaking as he pulls the bottle up to his mouth.

A loud, delighted girlish shriek from the other side of the bar snaps them back for a moment out of the soundless void they'd fallen into. The bar suddenly seems inundated with noise that chafes his eardrums.

"What happened with Cas?" Sam asks, finally turning around in his seat to face Dean completely.

Dean effects an ambiguous gesture that could mean anything from '_I don't know'_ to '_I don't wanna fucking talk about it'_. In this case, it's both.

"Dean." Sam chides tersely. Dean has to hold back a smile from the way Sam says his name – exactly like a nagging little brother should sound. Things feel easier somehow.

"I ruined everything." He provides in summary. It's as good as any.

Sam listens quietly, waiting for him to elaborate.

"You know, right?" Dean drowns his beer and lifts two fingers as he meets eyes with the bartender. In fifteen seconds, another cold one is opened and ready. He guzzles the neck and stares at the TV over the bar. It's a college game. The home teams winning, fans are cheering and shouting.

"Yeah, I know." Sam finishes off his first beer then. "I assume you said something? Or he did?"

"I did." '_Cause I'm an idiot,_ he adds.

"Shouldn't that be a good thing?" Sam wonders.

Dean turns to him with a wry expression, "So how's Jess, Sam?" His brother recoils as if he'd been slapped and Dean barrels forward, "or Lisa, or Madison, or wait, what about Jo?"

"I get it." Sam bites back. "It's not the same though." Sam grips and ungrips the empty bottle in front of him.

"You want another?" The bartender with the short hair from before comes up to ask Sam. He shakes his head. "Looking for something else?" The insinuating tone is hard to miss.

Only then does Sam bring his head up to give her a sketchy once-over, "Uhh.. no, thanks. I'm good." Sam replies, his lips tight.

"No, it's worse." Dean says when their alone again.

"Why?"

"Because it means more…" He says quietly, wondering when he and Sam became comfortable enough with each other to talk about this shit.

His brother doesn't reply. Maybe he's not surprised by the admission. Dean takes notice of the empty beer in Sam's gigantor hands, "one and done, huh?"

Sam nods. "Yeah, I think I'm gonna head back. Are you coming home?" The word sinks to the bottom chambers of his heart where it settles deep. He coughs back an emotion before he can trust his voice.

"Uhh.. yeah. Not for a bit though." Sam stands up from the stool, his body near Dean's shoulder. Sam rests a hand on his upper back, soothing almost and Dean can't remember the last time Sam touched him in a comforting gesture.

"Don't write it off yet." Sam tells him.

"Pretty sure that ship has sailed, crashed, and dropped to the bottom of the ocean to become pals with the Titanic, so I appreciate the sentiment but it's worthless." The words are cynical but his demeanour is calm and resolute. He's accepted his fate; what he's done.

"You don't know that." Sam argues.

"You should've gotten here a half hour earlier." Dean smirks bitterly over his shoulder.

"What did you—"

"—forget it." Dean cuts in. Doesn't matter, anyway.

"Are we good?" Sam asks standing to his right.

"Until I fuck up again, yeah we're awesome." He tips the beer back again and it's nearly done.

"We're always gonna fuck up; me, you – it doesn't matter. I think maybe if we just, I dunno, talked more. And I know –"

"—no, you're right." Dean interrupts. His words causing Sam some confusion. "It's better. Talking and shit. Maybe if I'd.. If I hadn't been such a coward six years ago, it never would have gotten this bad." He confesses.

"We still talking about us?" Sam asks, smiling for the first time.

"Shut up." Dean shakes his head, a ghost of a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. It's not any deeper than the skin, doesn't bring with it the emotion it displays. But it's something…

"Alright... I'll see ya' at home." Sam claps a hand on his shoulder and turns away.

There are no more beers after that. It takes time to get to the front seat of his beloved car, it's hard to walk when all he can see is the look on Cas' face. As much as it hurts, and how fucking horribly it happened, Dean knows it was the right decision. The wake of the dead behind him speaks for itself.

_I won't let you be another grave that I won't visit. _ Dean says silently. It's not a prayer, it's a reminder.

/\

When he gets back to the bunker he parks the car out front instead of the garage. Sometimes he likes to see the shiny metal reflect the different nighttime lights. It makes for a beautiful sight.

The door creaks shut and his eyes lift up and he sees Cas sitting by the door, his knees up high with his arms resting in a stretch over them. Dean stops several feet away.

"I'm sorry." With the amount of times he's said or thought the words in the last twenty-four hours, he should just tattoo them onto his face.

"Doesn't change anything, does it?" Cas mumbles to the ground.

"No."

"For me either." Cas tips his head up to meet his eyes. There's a bittersweet sadness that's taken over those blue eyes. Dean wishes he were closer, so he could see every line, every nuance of colour in them. He already knows, it's burned into his memory but seeing them each time anew, with all their intricacies and uniqueness, it's a secret joy he allows himself whenever they're close. Dean doesn't doubt for a second that they aren't really Jimmy's eyes. He'd seen Jimmy, and his eyes were dull.

"Are you staying?" Dean looks away finally, knowing that Cas sees the wreckage in him.

"Yes." He says. Dean nods, keeps nodding a bit more than necessary as he forces his body to accept it.

He walks forward, his breath sticking on each inhale. When he gets close, Cas stands up and they move towards the door together. _Nothing will ever be the same again, _he thinks.

Cas looks him up and down as Dean goes to open the door, it's appears to be clinical assessment more than anything else. The door opens and Cas steps past him to walk in, "I hope you contracted something," he says bitterly.

Dean stands in the doorway for a minute, watching Cas disappear to somewhere inside the bunker. _Yup, rock-bottom, right where I wanted to be tonight. _

* * *

**A/N: Ohh so , kisses for my readers because of what I just put you through. Hope you liked it.**


	6. When Healing Gets Handsy

**For a fic prompt on Tumblr: "I need something where after a particularly difficult hunt Dean is hurt and Cas has to heal him, but even so they can't keep their hands off eachother. Cas ends up healing him during sex/making out. I just need some glowy Cas smutty goodness in my life. 3"**

* * *

"I'll be back in a couple hours." Sam grabs the keys off the table and heads out the door, leaving Dean curled on the bed in pain.

"Get some booze while you're out!" Dean shouts after him, and then groans from the pain of yelling. His ribs practically cursing at him in flashes of pain.

Dean thought they were simply bruised, but now he isn't so sure. He's having a hard time breathing, and then there's the pain in his leg, his shoulder, his jaw. Christ, he feels like a fucking piñata that's moments away from being split open and divested of candy. Or in this case, blood and guts.

"Ughhhh…" He whines as the pain sends heat waves coursing over his skin, making him flush. He's more than aware of how bad a sign that is. Maybe he should have been a little more honest with Sam about how bad he was hurt. Those vamps had been hulk-ass strong. _Fuckers_.

Dean decides to call in the heavy-weight kind of healing, "Cas?" He whispers through clenched teeth. He hears a subtle flap and a slight huff of wind moves across him, the second of cooler air brushing over his skin is damn heavenly.

"Oh I'm so friggin' happy to see you!" Dean says trying to turn over and then failing with a pained whimper as he curls more into fetal position. "Ya know, except I can't see you." He adds facing the other wall.

"Calling me simply to be healed?" Cas asks skeptically from behind him. The tone in his voice is mildly piqued.

"Uhh.. no. Of course not." He says. "You know I always.. umm.. like when you visit." Dean feels the sweat start to pool in the crevices of his body where its all turned into itself. Now he's not only in pain, he's antsy and nervous.

There's been this thing happening with Cas. He's not sure what to do about it. He simply tries to pretend it's not there for the most part. They _never_ talk about it. It seems to happen only when Cas heals him. Although there was that one other time…

His thoughts are cut short as he feels Cas put one knee on the bed behind him, the mattress dipping low and his body rolls with it because he's too sore to keep himself still.

"You're very damaged." Cas reflects and Dean grimaces because he's sure there's a double meaning somewhere in there. He huffs in response, not giving that statement the validation of an answer.

"Cas… I'm fuckin' dyin' here." He complains.

"You're not dying, Dean. That is a bit dramatic." Cas chirps him and Dean can picture the single raised eyebrow at the statement.

Finally, fucking finally! A hand lays itself on his side and he flinches instantly from the pain against his ribs but it's immediately washed away. Except everything else still throbs like a bitch.

Cas seems to get distracted touching his side and begins a slow caress up and down his ribs. The angel is using mostly his fingers and Dean would be lying if he said it wasn't tickling him a little. But he was a man, dammit, and he was not going to be tickled by a fucking creature of God.

Dean doesn't say a word. That is like a rule, or something. He lets whatever happen … _happen_. For two reasons: one – he has no friggin' clue how to talk about this; and two – he wants it so why bother pulling on the reigns?

Even as Cas trails a hand over his hip and down to the outside of his thigh, the only change is that his breathing picks up.

Cas stops at his knee, rounding to the front and starts brushing his fingers and palm up the front and dipping in between his legs. His nearly full hard already and isn't that sad? He's over thirty years old and yet an angel lightly touching his hips and thighs – fully clothed – has him hard as iron. Christ, he's easy.

Cas avoids the good stuff and moves to the outside of his hip where he grips tigher and turns Dean onto his back, their eyes meeting for the first time since he arrived.

"Hello Dean." Cas' grin is amused and teasing, and Dean curses himself for smiling back so readily. So easily responding to it. Fuckin' Pavlov, he thinks.

Cas straddles him and gets his hands under Dean's shirt in an instant, touching his skin and Dean's breath slithers out his mouth, draining his lungs. Cas' blue eyes are watching him with heated interest. Cas grazes his fingers up the left side of his body, bumping across muscles and ribs, pain receding from every place he touches. Except, of course, where he inflicts it himself – taking Dean's nipple between two fingers and twisting it experimentally. Dean gives a small squeak of noise that he isn't fond of, but Cas is in the process of learning the do's and don't's during sex and every now and then he does something he's maybe seen or heard about and it's just weird or wrong. Like the purple-nurple he was just given.

Cas looks down at him quizzically and he shakes his head, "too hard."

Cas nods and starts rolling the tip between his fingers, Dean bites his lip, silently thanking God or whoever that Cas is a good learner. Correction – a great fucking learner.

Cas pushes his shirt up and bends over at the waist and starts kissing his chest. The weight of him pushes his shoulders into the bed and it hurts from what he is sure is a separated joint but Cas is busy so he doesn't interrupt quite yet.

Cas has his head mostly under Dean's shirt which is still on, kissing his way further up and Dean thinks he might just pop out the neck-hole any minute.

The angel gets as far as his collar bone before he is sitting up again and tugging Dean's shirt up, but he stops when it hurts, holding his arms down instead of up. "Cas?" He pleads, turning his head towards his shoulder.

Cas smiles playfully and instead unstraddles himself and gets between Dean's legs and then shifts lower on the bed.

"I believe you have an injury on your leg as well." He says clinically. While at the same time, undoing Dean's jeans.

Dean gives him a disbelieving eyebrow lift. Cas bites his bottom lip as he pulls the jeans down and off. There is blood on his one leg that he didn't even know about. He knew he'd been tossed onto something hard and angular during the fight, and likely gotten one of those deep bone bruises that killed when you walked, but he didn't realize it had broken skin.

Cas runs a palm up each leg, the pain disappearing in their wake. He gets to the cut above the knee and kisses it away – all the blood vanishing and he sighs at the relief.

Cas keeps his mouth on skin, moving up with his tongue trailing out up the inside of his thigh and he can't help but squirm the closer Cas gets to his boxer briefs. Cas' hands are on the outside of his legs and they go under his underwear while Cas nudges the front piece of fabric with his nose and then licks underneath. Dean shakes unwittingly.

Cas' hands are now right on the skin of his hips… God… so close. He very, very lightly – like barely at all – pushes his hips into Cas' touch and he can see Cas smile, whose face his now right over his groin, hands all up there touching – but not where he wants.

It's hard concentrating on the touch when he has a headache from getting clocked in the face but after a while it makes everything a bit fuzzy and in a way, he feels high making the experience even hotter.

Cas opens his mouth, Dean tenses, and then there is heat all over his pulsing erection from Cas damp mouth on his boxer briefs right over the hard bulge. The angel blows hot air right onto him and it's friggin' weird but feels seven shades of awesome at the same time.

"Jesus!" He breathes, licking his top lip as he watches the angel mouth over him. It's fucking hot. There is no other way to put it.

Cas pulls off and looks at him hard. "I'd prefer you not say Jesus. It is weird." Cas spreads his lips into a tight line and then curls his fingers over the only remaining fabric on him left, and pulls down and their gone.

"What… umm.. what _can_ I say?" He asks in a trembling voice that gives away too much. Yeah, it's shit like this that explains why he's bottom, he thinks. He's not bothered by it, but it doesn't mean he isn't aware that Cas has him wrapped around his long, deft, angelic fingers.

"Fuck." Cas pulls his coat off. "Babe." Cas starts unbuttoning his shirt. "Cas." He divests the button-up and places his hands on the front of his trousers. "Angel." He winks suggestively and Dean's mouth goes dry as he watches the button and zipper get worked.

Dean licks his lips when Cas is in nothing but those god awful plain white boxers. He hates those friggin things. They're too damn boring for someone so captivating. It doesn't do him justice.

"Take them off." He demands and he's not normally so dominant or even verbally present but as Cas' confidence grows, Dean's inhibitions seem to flit away like dust in a breeze. He never had a chance at resisting.

Cas stands up on the bed, towering over him like a God. Better than that, actually. Dean has seen all too many Gods, and each and every one of them have been petulant deuche-wads. Cas is more reverent, beautiful, compassionate, and commanding; the picture of him naked over Dean, boxers getting tossed to a distant corner of the room – hopefully landing in the trash – he realizes that Cas is someone whose better than everyone else. Sure he's made mistakes, but his will to make things better and his care for him and Sam, for humans, it's all so pure.

"What are you thinking?" Cas asks, still tall and naked over him. It's quite the picture.

"How amazing you are." He replies truthfully and Cas features become fixed and unmoving. The angel is still for about five seconds before he drops to his knees between Dean's wide open legs and crashes onto his skin and body, hard and flush.

"Dean.." Cas whispers against the skin of his neck, immediately layering kisses everywhere, humming and moaning against his pulse.

Dean loses every last ounce of patience he has and brings his hands to Cas smooth ass and pushes down and low to bring their erections sliding against each other.

"Fuuuckk…" He breathes, his heart now racing and his stomach hard and flexing as he moves as much as he can pinned below his friend… with benefits?

Dean laughs unexpectedly from the thought and Cas pulls back to give him a curious raise of an eyebrow.

"S'nothing." Dean says, trying to hide his grin. Cas clearly dislikes the light chuckle because he pushes down on Dean's separated shoulder with his hand lightly.

"Fuck! Ahhh!" _What the hell?_

"I don't appreciate being laughed at." Cas says in his clear deep, and slightly scary voice.

"I wasn't laughing at you. I'm laughing at us." He clarifies and grinds up into Cas to get the angel to shut up. It works and he gives a smug grin up at Cas and does it again.

Cas puts both hands on either side of his head and drops down to his mouth for the first time. His tongue pushes hard inside at the same time he rubs his cock against Dean's. They both moan and things turn frantic.

Dean is pretty sure he still has about five different injuries but the haze of arousal is tempering the pain.

The friction soon gets to be too much or not enough, it's hard to tell and so he widens his legs in an obvious invitation. Cas keeps kissing him deep, tongue wet and warm in his mouth, probing and experimental.

A shift on the bed, change in angles of the kiss and Dean can feel Cas' hand travelling up the underside of his thigh, it tickles and he smiles into the kiss, feeling Cas respond the same. A slick finger slides over his sac and down until it trails across that unholy place where only an angel has been. It's pretty ironic.

Cas' breathing turns heavy and he breaks the kiss, keeping their faces close so they can breathe better. Their combined air is humid and hot between them, sharing the oxygen for the most part and Dean sucks in a breath and bites his bottom lip as Cas' finger pushes in, slickened by fucking angel juice or something, Dean has no idea. Nor does he care really. He was tempted to ask the first time but it was very rushed and awkward and Dean was on a very strict policy of not saying one word, with the exception of _Fuck_ and incoherent moaning. He's a little more loose-lipped now. It's bound to get him into trouble soon enough.

One finger becomes not two but three suddenly and stills completely, trying to adjust. Cas' stare is boring into him, no doubt drinking in the mix of pleasure and amazement written over his face.

Cas fingers were clearly hand-crafted by a God that knew what he was doing because they are long and have him nearly convulsing in waves of pleasure.

"I can't… Cas, please." He mumbles, his eyes half closed. Cas kisses him slow and hot as he pulls his fingers out and shifts on the bed, getting in place.

Cas' hips line up, his hands grab under Dean's knees – and the simple touch never fails to send him into a mild panic. Dean is never sure he's quite ready for it – not like physically ready, but emotionally stable enough ready – as in Dear God, self, do not yell out _Fuck I love you_ in the middle of this.

Cas, "Dean." Cas says softly to get his attention as Dean feels the hot slick wide push of Cas' cock against his opening.

Dean forces his eyes open to look up at the searing blue death-by-sex gaze above him. Cas locks them in a look as he pushes in, Dean's features tense, his lips pull into his mouth and bites down on the inside of them, trying not to close his eyes so he can keep watching Cas, whose jaw is clenching as he hisses in a breath.

Cas bottoms out, trembling slightly and he positions his elbows beside Dean's head. One brushes hard against his shoulder and Dean winces in renewed pain that he's nearly forgotten about.

Cas kisses him and every ache and pain disappears, a mumbled "sorry," on his lips as he, not for the first time, has completely forgotten about Dean's injuries.

Body brand new and feeling more than ready, Dean shifts down as much as he can while pushed into the mattress by a heavy male body on top of him. Cas gets the message and pulls back till only the head is in and Dean can feel the ridge of it right against him, and fuck it feels good. Rubbing him in all the right places.

The first thrust is quick and hard and Dean yells, unable to stop himself as Cas' head rubs right against his prostate, nearly bringing him over the edge already.

"Cas… umm.. can you go fast?" He asks shyly, wanting it to be intense.

"Your wish is my command." Cas bites his lip and gives him a devilish grin as he starts pistoning fast and hard inside of him.

"Ohh fuckk!" He rambles curses, strewn together in sentences that don't make sense. Cas fucks him hard, and the angel has a sheen of sweat flush all over him.

Cas is on his knees with his hands under Dean's ass holding his lower body up off the bed, the angel's fingers digging into his flesh as he's used as leverage for Cas' thrusting that is rapidly approaching blinding speed.

"Ohmygodohmygodshitfuckholyhell…." The words slurring together, Dean is thrashing on the bed trying to hold on to the onslaught as Cas is clearly using otherworldly speed at this point.

He throws his legs over Cas' shoulders and Cas stretches an arm across his thighs to hold him in place while his other hand closing around Dean's now throbbing cock. It's almost purple at this point, the head shiny and hard.

The feel of Cas hot and hard inside of him, sliding in wet, brushing against that fucking pleasure bomb inside of him combined with the sight of his cock pushing in and out of Cas' fist drives him to delirium and he can't think. "_Fuck Cas!" _His body is shaking, "_Love you... love you…, " Love you… _it's being shaken and tossed around as Cas starts yelling his name, his cock getting even harder inside of Dean and suddenly Cas stops moving abruptly and Dean can feel a brief pause before the angel's cock starts jerking it's release inside him, the subtle twinge of movement along with the tightening of Cas' fist on him has him coming hard, his release surging out of him as he feels each twitch of Cas' in him.

Cas pulls out, replaces his cock with his fingers, still holding Dean off the bed with only one arm, and Cas starts rubbing incessantly over his prostate inside as his orgasm continues and he's pretty sure he's gonna die. "Oohhh! Fuuuccckk! Cas…. No… fuck I mean yes… I … ahhhhh." There is more come on him than he has ever seen in his life and he is nearly 150% sure that he finished three times at the same time. Is that even possible, he thinks as his body shakes again, another few drops of come leak out and he raises heavy-lidded eyes to look at Cas whose looking at him hungry and not nearly satisfied as Dean thinks he should be.

"M'gonna pass out." He slurs and Cas shakes his head.

"Not yet, please I want more." Cas says desperately and Dean manages to quirk his eyebrow, wondering what the desperation is all about.

Cas wills the mess away and lands on Dean's chest, holding his face – cradling it really – and touches their lips together softly. "I love you too." The angel says and Dean blinks rapidly in a daze.

_Shit… He did say it, didn't he?_ Fuckin' brain, he curses and realizes he can't take it back now. They're already fucking and he knew how he felt, so he probably should have expected this.

Damn healing and its friggin' intimacy.

Dean twists his lips to the side in a weird embarrassed expression that makes him feel uneasy.

"Yeah…" He allows, and starts biting the inside of his lips nervously. God, you're such a girl, he tells himself shaking his head at his thoughts.

Cas smiles warm and bright, Dean thinks of a big warm sun. The angel, his angel, kisses the side of his mouth then his cheek, right in front of his ear, and then "turn over," is whispered humidly into his ear and sends shivers straight to his spent cock making it flinch, shocking him completely. As if you haven't had enough, he thinks towards his groin.

Cas leans back, waiting. Dean turns over onto his stomach, shoving his arms under the pillow and turning his face to the side. He can't see much, just a bit of Cas' lean frame from the corner of his eye. Cas pushes one of his legs up and he's too tired to do anything but let him.

Cas presses the head of himself against Dean's entrance and pushes in slow and easy, Dean sighs sleepily – all of his energy wasted and he plans to lay here and enjoy being fucked and … well.. loved, he guesses, judging by the ultra-slow movements Cas is dishing out. It's all good. It's all very very good.

Cas gets right in deep and then lowers down over Dean's back, wrapping one arm under his stomach and across his ribs and the other arm curves in between his neck and arm on the right side of his head, stretching down over his chest in a lopsided hug.

Cas' face is right beside his own, turned to the side, wet lipped kisses are given out to his neck, behind his ear, his cheek, jaw, and even on his eyelid, all the while Cas moves achingly slow in him, hips moving in circles every now and then like he's trying to get even deeper.

The bliss of it overrides every though and feeling and the only thing that matters is that Cas is basically making love to him. Dean is fifty shades of grateful that healing is such a hands-on experience. He's never felt better.


	7. When Dreams Come True

**A/N: I began this the other night out of frustration with something else. It ended up way the f longer than I meant it to be. No sex. Joint handjobs. Cuteness. Dean being adorbs. Loads of kissing. Cas wantin' the sex bad but Dean tempering their raging hormones. Enjoy :) I am sure there are a bunch of mistakes, sorry. Hopefully it's not too bad.**

* * *

The light poured through the open window, the breeze coming through the screen was fresh, smelling of spring. It drowned out the musty motel room scent, the stingy comforters that had been rewashed over a thousand times. For a brief moment, Dean could believe he was somewhere else.

The light crispness in the air, the sun flickering; fading and resurging with moving clouds across his eyelids.

He wasn't on a hunt; he was near a beach. Somewhere where nothing bad happened. Somewhere that he could relax and not have to worry or care about what evil things were brewing.

He turned over in bed and let his imaginations run loose in his mind, giving himself to the daydream.

The bed dipped with a heavy weight and he tried in vain to pretend he was still asleep. He didn't care if it was Sam, or Cas, or someone hell-bent on slicing him to pieces, as long as he stayed still with his eyes closed he could pretend.

"Dean.. what are you thinking about?" Castiel asked, his low voice pensive with thought.

"Naked women." Dean replied in a flat brittle tone.

Castiel's small chuckle was nearly enough to have him turning around to see the expression for himself but he was stubborn and wasn't about to let go of the great morning that he'd been having.

"If only dreams came true…" Cas pondered. Dean felt the light tugging of the comforter and imaged Cas trailing his hand over the patterns in it. Cas didn't seem bothered that he was inches from Dean's ass as he did this.

Dean did though and scooted farther towards the edge of the bed. He closed his eyes and hoped Cas would leave him. He'd decided that he wasn't ready to face the day. Something dark and malicious was in this town, he knew that, but goddammit for once, he was going to fucking sleep in. The evil motherfuckers could take a damn number.

"Dean…" Cas said quietly and Dean had truly forgotten the angel was still perched on the edge of his bed. He didn't do more than murmur a grunt in response.

Instead of a reply, a warm weight settled on his shoulder and the fucker shifted them in space. Dean was ready to berate him with an effluence of swear words when he realized that he was still in a bed… a softer bed, a bigger bed. What the hell?

Dean sat up in a swift motion, looking around himself. Cas was nowhere to be seen. The room was not big but the bed was glorious, it was fluffed with heavenly soft sheets, thick duvets, about six pillows. The walls were white painted panels, an old dresser sat near the door and there was a briny smell in the air. The cause of course being the epic ocean that dominated the majority of the scenery displayed by the sliding glass doors, open to the screen with light blue curtains dancing in front of it.

What the hell was going on? Dean had no idea why Cas had dropped his ass at this seaside cottage but he suspiciously wondered if Cas had somehow read his thoughts not ten minutes ago.

He turned on the bed to look for a nightstand or a clock, something to tell him the time or the place all he found was a large lamp and a note.

Dean, I will handle the hunt in Jays Creek, please consider this your much needed vacation. This cottage appears to be vacant and isolated. I have left you food. I'll be back in a week. Do not try to reach civilization. If you do, I will redeposit you here.

Relax. That is an order from the one who watches over you.

Yours,

Castiel.

PS – I remembered to leave pie.

Dean stared at the scrawl over the paper. It was perfect cursive script. Angelic even. He chuckled and folded the paper in precise squares before settling it on the nightstand.

Cas had literally made his dream come to life. He couldn't fucking believe it. He had a week to be by himself, to eat all he wanted, to sleep all he wanted… to do all the other things one could do when their brother was not around.

With that thought he raced out of bed and through the door. He wondered as his socked feet creaked against the rustic wooden floorboards. He heard the waves crashing as the sound made its way through the numerous open windows.

At the end of the hall he found a small open area. It was quaint, with a tiny living room and an efficient kitchen. A prep island cart on wheels sat in the middle of the kitchen, only three feet from the back of the couch and Dean saw it riddled with bags, some plastic, some paper. He felt like a kid on Christmas. No one had ever done anything like this for him; taken the time to give him the things he didn't need, but that he wanted. Cas had taken the time to give him a gift that Dean knew he couldn't match. He ripped through the paper bags first and found chips and pie and hamburger buns! Dean nearly hopped as he rounded the small cart and tore into the plastic bags finding movies and PORN!

Three copies of Busty Asians, and … some other crap that Dean was going to have to have some serious talks with Cas about. Why the hell would Dean want to look at dudes?

Oh fuck.

Fuck…

Four fucking nights ago, Cas had woken him up to tell him about some stupid weapon that the angels had lost and that he'd needed some books from Dean for more information. The whole goddamn time Cas had been trying to hide a smile and when Dean had asked him about it, he'd gone all aloof like he had _nooo_ idea what Dean was talking about. But now he knew.

Cas had fucking seen what he'd been dreaming about.

The dream was hazy even now, and it surely hadn't been the first of such things. He'd been sitting in a large chair – on of those giant plushy professor kind of monstronsities in a hideous shade of green. Legs were straddled by his thighs –thick male, muscular legs. Unmistakable.

Long fingers attached to exploratory hands had been shaping around the geography of his body, a deep moan reaching into his ears. Dean had felt stubble as dry lips traced up his neck until a wet tongue stroked the curve of his ear. He remembered shaking in the dream, feeling hot and aching with arousal.

The man in the dream commanded his every thought and sensation, overpowering him with heat and need. The man had been grinding against Dean's erection, and he'd gotten so close. He was on the verge of release when his vision tunneled until all he saw was blue.

Then he'd woken up. With a raging hard-on, only to find Cas staring down at him. Like he always did, the creepy fucker.

Dean stared down at the man dominating the cover of the porn-mag. He was muscled, but lean and _real_. Not like the unrealistic representations of the majority of women in the porn that dudes bought. This man had dark brown hair, rumpled from… extracurriculars, and … _motherfucker, _ blue eyes.

He grouped the porn buffet into his arms and walked quickly back to the bedroom and tore open the nightstand drawer and shoved the magazines inside.

So Cas had dropped him here with the intention of relaxation and ejaculation – and apparently man on man fantasy playtime.

"Cas… I don't know if you are hearing this, but when I see you again we are going to have a _serious_ conversation about privacy and boundaries!"

With that done, he decided to head outside. Dean pushed the screen back and stepped onto a sand covered four by four deck. He descended the two steps to reach the grainy rolling landscape. He pulled off his socks and tossed them backwards through the door.

Dean bit his lip, taking one look around before he shed the rest of his clothing.

He was naked. Totally naked and alone and on a beach! Hellllsss… yes! He started walking towards the ocean and tried to feel elated but his hunter toned instincts kept nagging at him..

Now would be a real shitty time to get jumped. Ya know… being naked and all. But then he thought, the fucking ocean is laced with salt. I'm good!

He ran into the waves, cursing the cold as it splashed against his nuts.

"Fuckin hell!" He cried. Dean raced back to the beach holding his sensitive parts in one hand. "Sorry about that." He spoke to his groin, lightly rubbing a hand down it to warm it up again.

When he got over the chill, he lowered to the ground and stretched out onto his back.

The sun met every inch of his frontside, warming the layers of him to the very core and he felt limp. It was fucking awesome.

**Three hours later***

Dean's eyes lifted slowly… and it hurt. "Jesus." He complained, feeling the dry skin crinkle into folds. He lifted his arms and whimpered.

"Fuuuuck!" He yelped as skin brushed against skin and he realized he had burnt his entire body from falling asleep under the sun.

He looked down his body and nearly cried at how red and uncomfortable his cock looked. And that was before he'd moved or touched it.

It felt like fucking fire itself was giving him a blow job. He tried to cradle it, but it was no use. By the time he made it back to the cottage he was nearly in tears.

"I finally get a goddamn vacation and I go and fucking burn myself! Good one Dean. Did you miss hell that much!?" He spoke to himself, irritated and aggravated by the searing pain all over his body, but especially his private area.

An hour into the hurt, he couldn't take it anymore. The worst part was he couldn't put any clothes on. He was fire-engine truck red on the front and ghastly white on the back. It was horrid. But the pain had gotten severe enough that modesty be damned.

"Casss!" He pleaded. "I burnt myself. I burnt my dick man! It fuckin' kills… you need to heal me. Or like send some aloe vera or something."

He waited, sitting on the bed with his hand covering himself as lightly as humanly possible.

No wings flapping in the wind.

The heat flushing his skin was like a fever, making him nearly dizzy. He knew bad sunburns could turn into puss-filled blisters… oh for the love of…

"Caas! My dick's gonna fall off!"

Wind blew against his back and he sighed dramatically.

"Oh thank God!" He exhaled in relief as he heard the angel walk around the bed.

The first glimpse of Cas' face and he nearly wanted to take back the prayer and dwell in his pain. The angel looked pleased.. totally fucking amused.

"You think this is funny, don't you?" He asked with tight lips. Lips that hurt to move because they were also _fucking_ burnt!

"It's a little funny." The angel replied, beginning to snigger as his eyes moved over Dean's bright red skin.

"C'mon, do your healy thing." He pleaded.

"You know, there was sunblock in one of those bags" Castiel failed in trying to contain his grin while he continued to be a smug bastard.

Meanwhile, Dean sat there naked covering a throbbing red dick with his throbbing red hand.

"Yeah… you thought of everything, didn't you?" Dean shot back, lifting the corner of his mouth.

"Yes, actually. I believe I did." The angel replied, smirking down at him.

A wave of burning seared over him and he lost all desire or will for banter.

"Please…" He begged.

Cas moved towards him and Dean, even through the pain, became hyper aware that he was ass naked in front of the angel. Not that he could use his dick now if he'd wanted to. Did he want to?

Standing in front of Dean, Cas looked down at him. The angel raised a hand and gripped the underside of Dean's chin. He lowered his face so they were merely inches apart and Dean winced from renewed pain in his groin.

With Dean's vision crowded with blue, the angel spoke.

"Do you not see your own dreams?" Castiel asked cryptically as a familiar sensation of tingling prickled through his body. His skin instantly cooled, goosebumps popping up almost everywhere and he shivered in response.

Dean stared into the blue eyes and trembled, somewhat from the cold, but somewhat from other things. His brain suddenly replayed scenes from his dream, the man straddling him, erections rubbing through clothes.

Dean released a shaky breath and curled his hand tighter around himself. Cas remained hold of his chin, keeping Dean's face in place as the angel continued to watch him.

"I think you see too much of my dreams." He finally replied, his voice sounding wrecked.

"Perhaps you should see mine then." The angel responded with a mischievous grin but then he disappeared leaving Dean naked and alone, valiantly hiding a semi-erect cock under his palm.

"What the fuck?!" He exclaimed, coming to his senses. He shuddered with renewed coolness and scrambled to tunnel under all the blankets, burying himself under them.

He turned off the lamp and let the orange sunset dominate the room.

Dean thought of Cas' eyes. The blue in them, it was damn vivid. And he was again reminded of the dream.

He groaned at the thought of Cas straddling him, and then he shook his head like he could get rid of it.

He ripped the covers off and reached over and pulled out the nudy girl mag and turned to a random page and starting jacking off, fast and frantic so that he could sleep.

At the precise moment his balls pulled tight to his body and his cock hardened even more with his hand gripping at the base of the head pushing up and down over and over, he was bombarded with the thought of Cas going down on him. Those thick light pink lips stretching around Dean's cock… _fuckfuck…fuck…_ He bowed off the bed as he came, stroking in time with each surge. He groaned in pleasure, his head pushed back into the pillows, his mouth hanging open.

When the high of the orgasm waned, he sat up seeing himself covered in his own mess.

"Oh god, I just jacked off to Cas…" His eyes went wide as it all fell into place: the dream, the angel smirking at him like he knew…

In truth, he'd been dreaming about a blue-eyed man for sometime, but thought it had been totally random. I mean, let's face it, he'd watched a lot of porn. Like, some real weird kinky ass stuff, and nearly every category that was available at . Did that include the occasional man on man selection.. _perhaps_. Ya' know, for the sake of curiosity.

He wiped his chest and stomach and then pulled on some clothes and strode into the kitchen to grab a snack before hitting up the bathroom to brush his teeth and then finally trying to fall asleep. Hopefully he'd be able to turn off both his upstairs and downstairs brains.

As he laid in bed, Cas' last words continued to play around his head as he tried to fall asleep. It was still early yet, but he was on vacation and dammit he was going to sleep if he wanted to. If he could anyway…

His drift into unconsciousness was slow and there was a long stretch of time where he was neither awake asleep.

Dean distantly heard the waves through the screen of the open patio door. But he could also hear the sound of wind whipping past his ears like he was surfing the wing of a 747 jetliner. It wasn't as unpleasant as he would have thought. It was like the hum of a fan on a hot night, soothing in it's sameness as it drowned out the rest of the world.

He found himself opening his eyes to an insanely bright sun. He had to blink several times to ease the sharp pain at the back of his eyes. When his vision focused and adjusted he found himself in a small park, green short perfect grass all around him in a rough circle. This was so far from his normal dreams that he became on edge and at odds with the serene atmosphere.

Dean's unease fell away the second he saw Cas come through the edge of trees with his familiar gait and calm expression.

"Cas… where are we?" Dean asked. The angel appeared more comfortable in this place than Dean could ever remember seeing.

"This…" he began. "This is where I like to spend time when I am not otherwise occupied." The angel explained, watching Dean with thoughtful attention.

"But where are we?" He asked.

"This is… well, it is a representation of the heaven that I like to visit. It is the perpetual Tuesday afternoon of an autistic man." He told Dean, beginning a relaxed pace.

Dean watched as Castiel's face tipped back to let the sun fall onto his features. His eyes drifted closed and Dean found himself transfixed by the suffused glow that illuminated the angel.

"Is this your dream?" Dean asked. "Because I gotta say, not too incriminating." He chastised. "I thought this was an exercise in evening the score." He smirked at the angel, who slanted his head to smile but did not open his eyes.

"I once came upon your place of serenity, and I thought it was best to begin here. Where I find peace." Cas inserted his hands into his pockets before turning to face Dean.

Dean stared at him for some time. He'd expected.. well, to be honest, he had no idea what to expect with Cas. The angel had uprooted him to a seaside cottage; effectively making his dreams –however insignificant—a reality. He'd learned through that gesture that Cas had become privy to other dreams… dreams that were far from insignificant. Dreams that were so damn significant that Dean didn't really know what to do about them –except of course to masturbated to them, he thought with dry humour.

Probably something he shouldn't be thinking about in the presence of a nearly omniscient being.

They stood in companionable silence for a duration of time that felt longer than it probably was. The world seemed still in whatever form of hallucination this was.

Dean was the one to break the silence. "I wasn't bothered by the way." He looked over at Cas, finding the angel already meeting his gaze.

"When you came to the lake; it was nice to have the company." He felt awkward, admitting something that probably gave away more than he would have liked.

Dean would almost have preferred discussing pornographic preferences as opposed to the deeper exchange they appeared to be having –however few of words that exchange presented itself.

Cas moved towards him, a soft content expression dominating his features.

"I never meant to betray your privacy." The angel said.

"I know."

"Do you remember, during the rise of Lucifer, when I was cut off from Heaven?" He asked,

"Yeah, of course."

"Falling asleep in the backseat of the Impala was the first time I'd ever slept in my entire existence." Cas' stare turned towards the sky and his eyes closed again.

Dean wasn't sure what to say so he opted to remain silent, listening to whatever Cas wanted to tell him.

"Can I show you what I dreamt about then?" He looked to Dean, waiting.

"Cas, you can show me whatever you want. I wasn't being serious before about evening the score." Something about all this had gone way off course. Dean felt like a rug was being ripped out from under him and he didn't know how to regain his footing.

Waking up this morning had been peaceful, and then a whole wallop of shit had happened. Everything adding up to something really fucking obvious and he wasn't sure if he was ready to face it.

"I want to show you everything." Cas said dramatically. The words weighed heavy on Dean, left him with a sense of responsibility to meet Cas' efforts in whatever game they were playing.

He nodded.

Cas reached out and grabbed his hand. Dean's palm immediately turned sweaty and he hated his body's response to the contact. It's just a fucking hand, he tried to tell himself. But it was no use.

The scenery swapped and the landscape expanded. Green, uncivilized nature sprawling out untouched before him. It was unlike anything he'd ever seen.

He jumped back as a dinosaur came thundering past him, he looked to Cas with a shocked and bewildered expression only to find the angel staring at the scene with familiarity. He was thoroughly reminded of how old Cas really was. The trip to Jurassic Park didn't last long and soon the images passed with near blinding speed, various sights sprouting up throughout history, some he recognizes, others he didn't.

Cas stood by his side, hand still holding Deans, remaining detached throughout the trip down earth's memory lane. Until the tenor of the dream slowed.

Dean distantly heard his own voice, it was unclear, the words muffled – perhaps Cas had heard him speaking during the dream. A quick shot of tires over asphalt morphed into an abstract whir of trees and wind. An upclose image of his face came into view; the look was intense. His green eyes seemed too close, too intimate. Dean wasn't if it was memory or random recall.

The dream darkened and he suddenly felt hot in his own clothes. He looked over at the angel finding Cas chewing on his lip but resolutely not looking at Dean. Images flickered fast and indistinct now, a mixture of shadows and skin. The concept of touch so vivid that Dean felt a trickle of sweat run down his own spine. He saw a blurry kiss, naked legs (definitely more than two), a pan of him shirtless laid out on a bed; a knowing smile on his face. That definitely was not memory… that was fantasy. Cas' fantasy to be exact.

His hand tightened it's hold around the fingers in his grasp. The pulse of the erotic display slowed, fading quickly, the dream ending on the sound of his voice.

In the stark silence that followed, with sheer blackness around them, Dean turned to his friend. It was so dark he could not have made out the angel's features even if they were nose-to-nose.

He tried to read Cas' emotions in the air around him.

Cas stroked his thumb over Dean's knuckle, the only indication that he was present at all. Dean pulled at the connection, dragging Cas closer to himself.

"Cas…" He whispered, unable to find any other suitable words.

Cas responded by kissing him. The press of those dry full lips against his was like striking a match. His body flushed with heat and Dean stepped closer, bringing their bodies flush together. He groaned deep in his throat at the feel of something hard pressing into his hip.

He broke the kiss to breathe in deep draws of air. "What are we doing?" He asked, confused.

"Making dreams come true?" Cas suggested, dropping Dean's hand only to slide his palms up Dean's chest, one hand moving around to the back of his neck to push his fingers along his scalp.

"Wow, that was cheesy." Dean said, moving his hands to Cas' lower back, wanting badly to go lower.

Cas pulled back to tilt his head at Dean, "what does cheese have to do with anything?" He asked seriously.

Dean chuckled. "Nevermind."

"So, was this your plan then? Drop me off for a week somewhere with gay porn and then show up and seduce me with your naughty dreams?" Dean teased, laying kisses along Cas' jaw and then licking down his neck making the angel struggle for words.

"Umm… maybe…" He admitted, tugging at Dean's short hair.

"Subtle." He said sarcastically. Dean reached down to grab Cas' ass, pushing their groins together and moaning loudly.

Cas smiled, Dean couldn't see it in the dark, but he felt it somehow. "I was being sarcastic. You are in no way sly here." He told him, moving back to kiss that grinning mouth.

"And what about you?" Cas began. "You allowed your entire front to burn to the point of requiring my… _services_… while you remained conveniently naked. What was that about?" Castiel gave a couple playful tugs on the hair at the base of his skull, it sent shivers all down his spine.

Dean laughed. "That was totally unplanned. Trust me! Burning my dick is really not the way I would have chosen to get you into bed." He shuddered with the thought of trying to fuck anything with a crispy cock. _Uhhhh!_

"Is that what you're trying to do now?" The angel asked, shifting his body erotically against Dean's. "Get me into bed?"

Dean licked his lips and tried to see what he was staring down at through the shadows. "Maybe." He chirped with flirtatious prowess. Adding emphasis by grinding them together like he was a horny sophomore at a high school dance.

"Is that all?" Castiel asked as he pinched one of Dean's nipples causing him to yelp and bite his lip.

Dean considered the question and then realized his next words would be pretty important; like make or break territory here.

He thought of all the memories he had, of all the sensations that had coursed through over the years. The dreams… the worries… the ache.

"I want everything." His voice was heavy and rough in the darkness.

Cas growled and slammed against him. The orientation of the world turned around on itself and he fell through the air. Soft light and space sparked into reality and he landed on his back against the bed back on the cottage. Cas laying over him, his stare heated as his blue eyes raked over Dean's body beneath him.

Dean felt on display, laid out for the taking. And fuck did he ever want to be taken. The room was cast in a white glow from the moon and its reflection sparkling over the water, finding it's way into their private moment.

Cas shucked his jacket and tossed it onto the dresser, the full suit a sight that Dean rarely saw. It looked good on him. The thought didn't stop his hands from pushing the suit jacket over his shoulders.

Dean shifted underneath to rest on his elbows as Cas started unbuttoning his dress shirt, his legs on either side of Dean's hips. He watched, mesmerized at the unveiling before him. The holy tax accountant finally losing those outer layers.

Dean found himself sighing as the white undershirt was thrown over onto the growing pile. Cas had a smaller build than him, but it was lean –like a runner, with a flat stomach and hidden strength that Dean had felt first hand.

Dean dropped back on the bed and reached down for the hem of his t-shirt and struggled on the bed to pull it off over his head. When he threw it somewhere he returned his eyes to the man on top of him to find Cas smiling down at him.

"I believe I prefer you without clothes." Castiel stated, starting to undo the clasp of Dean's jeans, pulling down on the zipper with a near giddy grin stretching his face into an expression Dean had never seen before.

"Having fun?" Dean quirked up at him, moving his hips in a circle. Cas blanked, his hand pausing.

"Don't distract me" He reprimanded, glaring down at Dean who shut right up but couldn't keep the grin from showing up.

Cas stared down at the top of Dean's jeans, now completely undone. Dean waited for him to make a move, oddly enjoying Cas' newfound experiences with him. Dean felt privileged to be the one to see it; to witness his confusion and his arousal, or his excitement, it was something else.

Their eyes met and Cas hesitated with whatever he wanted to say.

"What's on your mind?" He asked, placing his hands over the angel's.

"Umm… I suddenly feel nauseous." The angel responded; uncertainty and confusion playing over his features. Dean was offended until he felt Cas picking at his cuticles under Dean's hands, and the way Cas was chewing on his lip. He was nervous…

When Dean realized this he smiled. He couldn't help it. It was friggin' cute. A word he would take to his grave before he said out loud.

"Relax." He said. "How about we switch?"

Cas nodded and Dean grabbed onto his hips and dropped him onto the left side of the bed, his back sinking into the fluffy duvet. Dean bit back a moan from the glorious picture presented in front of him. This was definitely the stuff of dreams.

He stood on the bed and smiled wide down at his … angel. He pushed his worn jeans down leaving the boxer briefs on. He wobbled as he pulled each pant leg off, trying to balance on one foot on the soft bed. Cas grinned at his efforts, instinct had him putting a hand over his junk in the unlikely circumstance that Dean lost balance and stepped on him or fell.

He landed on his knees straddling Cas' thighs. He bent down and kissed Cas' stomach; it was warm and smooth under his lips.

He kissed a few random places and let his hands do their magic on the dark blue dress pants.

Dean smiled up at him before pulling back and tugging at the dress pants. He laughed at the choice of underwear.

"Wow, we need to get you some better underwear." Dean commented as he took in the sight of the horrid white plain, baggy-ass boxers.

"Dean. I haven't had time to concern myself over the type of underwear you might find appealing." He said in a stern voice.

"Well you should have." Dean smirked back before pulling at the elastic and letting it snap back.

He shifted lower on the bed and ripped the pants off with flourish, tossing them against the screen door.

"Damn, that felt good!" He said cheerfully.

Cas' skin was flushed pink, part arousal, part blush. If he had a camera he would have wanted to take a picture. Dean settled for committing it to memory.

He drove his hands up Cas' legs, not bothered about the feel of leg hair under his palms. He dug his fingers into the thick thigh muscles, earning a delighted moan from the man under his touch. He smiled cockily.

He eased back onto the bed, crawling over Cas' body until he was staring down into the eyes that had been plaguing his dreams for months, maybe longer.

Dean leaned down and kissed him. He swiped his tongue over the seam of Cas' lips and felt the tip of the angel's tongue breach through to touch his. He hummed joyfully and delved right into the kiss, moving their mouths together and tracing patterns over Cas' body with one hand, the other still holding him up.

When they broke apart, Cas peered down their bodies. There was no way he'd miss the enormous bulge in the front of his grey tight boxer-briefs. Dean was pretty sure his cock was one shift away from coming out of the front.

Dean felt like he was in high school all over again, everything was new and exciting.

And intense.

Maybe too intense. He looked down at Cas who stared up at him, questioning in a way that Dean feared he had no answers for.

Dean kissed him instead and sat back on his heels; he tugged at the duvet and sheet underneath Cas' tense form and began yanking until he glared at the angel.

"Lift your hips." He said impatiently, moving down to allow room. Cas did and Dean grabbed both his legs and tucked them under the covers. He moved over to his side of the bed and got under the mound of cotton.

Cas turned onto his side to face Dean, his eyebrows knitted together in confusion.

"Why did you stop?" He asked.

Dean placed his hand on the side of Cas' neck and scooted closer so that he could kiss him.

"I don't want to rush this."

"Dean, I'm a virgin not a child." Cas said in a flat tone.

"I wouldn't care if you were a common whore, we're still stopping." He said.

"But before… you said you wanted to '_get me into bed.'_" Cas raised his eyebrows insinuatingly. Angel thought he was so slick knowing the hidden meaning in the statement. Again, Dean thought it was cute. But fuck no was he saying that out loud.

"And would you look at this!" Dean said sliding his gaze over Cas' blanketed form. "I got you into my bed." He gave the angel a devilish smile before kissing him in sweet sucks and nips, more lips than tongue.

"I know this was not your intention." Castiel replied with apparent irritation.

"I have the best of intentions actually."

"Dean." Cas' tone was flat, his stare hard.

"Cassss…" Dean shot back, heavy on the sarcasm.

"I want you."

"I want you too." Dean replied, a little offended that Cas didn't see how bad he did want this. Obviously the angel had seen the raging erection that had been trying to escape his underwear. How much clearer could he be?

"Cas, it's been like," he checked his watch, "less than twenty-four hours since we figured ourselves out." He began.

"I know it's been a long time coming, but that doesn't mean I want to just strip you down and go to town like you were some random chick I'd picked up at a bar. I care about you and I want to show you that before we do stuff that maybe neither of us is ready for."

"You were nervous." He explained softly. "And you know what? So am I." Dean shrugged, abruptly feeling embarrassed and exposed.

Cas studied him for a moment. With some conclusive thought, the angel's blue stare softened and he craned his neck forward to seek another kiss. Dean gave in readily.

It got warm under the blankets with all the touching and hormones but Dean had never been more comfortable. The feel of Cas' scruff scraping over his skin and occasionally on his lips was different than what he was used to but when Cas leaned over him to kiss his neck, the feel of that short beard had him squirming and shivering, it sent goosebumps right down his spine.

"Hmmm… that feels amazing." He crooned nudging closer, pushing his arm under Cas' neck. His other moved over Cas' ribs feeling his chest expand in uneven patterns under his touch. He fingered along each rib, moving down to caress a hip and then sneakily reaching around to grab a full firm cheek.

Cas smiled against his cheek, kissing him and then sighed before dropping his head to the pillow—which included Dean's bicep.

Cas closed his eyes as Dean scratched along the length of his arm, scraping his nails along the outside, curving over the elbow before circling around and scratching on the inside—this made Cas smile so Dean continued to stroke him.

"You are an enigma." Cas whispered sounding close to sleep, despite being an angel.

"How so?" Dean asked.

"So rough around the edges, and yet to see you smiling and tender, it is fascinating—the differences. I want to see every facet of your being… all the little intricacies that I have yet to witness. It's exciting, really." He sighed and smiled, content.

Dean threaded their fingers together and raised the hand to meet his lips.

"I'm not that exciting." He said gruffly.

Cas' eyes flashed open. "Yes, you are. I've lived for millennia and I can conclusive say that you are exciting."

"You've seen dinasaurs." Dean countered.

"They were dumb."

"You were around to watch ape's turn into people!" Dean exclaimed, now just egging him on.

Cas rolled his eyes, "Ape's did not turn into monkeys, ape's are still ape's." Cas replied in a monotonous tone.

"Oh yeah, that what was with all the '_hairless apes'_ crap from that dickface angel friend of yours?!" Dean retorted, enjoying the banter.

"Well, your species does resemble apes." Cas explained matter-of-factly.

"Whatever, all I'm saying is that I am not the exciting since you've seen… well… everything. You're just biased. And I have no problem with that!" Dean kissed him making a loud smack sound.

"It is a possibility." Cas remarked in serious contemplation.

Dean laughed and tickled his side which produced a reaction he sure as hell did not expect. Cas smacked his hand away and glared at him with seething anger.

"What was that?!" He grated, and Dean burst out laughing.

"I tickled … you." He laughed more.

"I don't like it." Cas replied.

Dean did it again and Cas squirmed away.

"We are not allowed to have sex but you decide this is a form of physical interaction is acceptable?" He raised his eyebrows.

"Oh relax, it's fun." He reached down and spread the tips of his fingers in outward circle over Cas' knee cap and the angel nearly jumped up from the bed.

Dean laughed harder… "Oh… f-fuck… you're… so…tick—lish…" he continued laughing, excited by this new prospect of enjoyment.

"Dean…" Cas scolded darkly, but the ghost of a smile flickered at the corners of his mouth, Dean grinned something wicked, waiting for his chance to pounce.

The second Cas' stare flickered away for a second, Dean threw himself on top of Cas, twisting the blankets around them and began his assault.

By the end of his attack, he could hardly breathe he was laughing so hard. Dean couldn't, for the life of him, remember the last time he had laughed that hard. Cas had succumbed to the relentless torture of his fingers and let out a stream of deep uncontrollable laughter—a sound that Dean absolutely loved hearing.

When they calmed down, breathing somewhat turned to normal. Cas looked over at him.

"Can we have sex now?" He asked.

Dean chuckled. "No. Get it under control ya horndog." He teased, reaching around to smack Cas' ass.

"I don't know what that is." Cas said.

"It means you are a wanton, horny, mess!" Dean laughed.

The laughter stumbled in a choke as Cas shut him up with a hand pressing right against his clothed cock. Not currently hard, but certainly perking up with renewed interest.

Cas started stroking over him, his blue eyes full of heat focused on Dean.

"What about this?" He asked, emphasizing his touch with a firm press. Dean gulped back a flood of saliva.

"Uhhmmm.." He stumbled in a wash of sudden arousal.

"But… umm.. patience…" He tried.

Cas smiled and slipped his hand through the front opening of the boxer-briefs, touching Dean bare and turning his brain to mush.

"Ohh… fuck.." Dean ground out, moving his hips instinctively.

He grasped Cas' face and pulled it towards him, sealing their lips together. He kissed hungrily.

"Not too much yet." He said, meeting Cas' lust-filled stare.

Cas nodded and Dean reached down and lightly grazed over the front of Cas' boxers, feeling a long, thick erection ready for his touch.

He watched Cas' reaction as he pulled the boxers down, hooking them low so they were out of the way. He inhaled a shaky breath and curved his fingers around the hot length of flesh. Cas made the most sinful noise from the touch, his own hand stalling around Dean's dick.

Dean shifted closer and pushed Cas' hand out of the way. He'd never done this before, but he'd watched a lot of porn, so he felt pretty confident.

Cas watched him and the second their cocks rubbed against each other, Cas curved into the touch, letting out a deep moan.

Dean grabbed them both, glad his hand was big enough and started stroking. They moved closer on the pillow, their legs moving together, straining with need.

Cas' breath blew across his face and before long they were both moving up into the warmth of Dean's hand. It was uncoordinated and not as expertly executed as he would have liked but they still rutted against eachother like it was the single greatest thing ever.

Cas got louder until he was letting out an endless stream of _ahhh's _and _ooohhh's, _a deep rumble of sound, not light and breathless as Dean would have expected.

The ache built and Dean felt himself getting even harder still, occasionally jerking against his palm and Cas' firm dick rubbing along the underside of his own.

His fist moved faster, gliding over them in sharp need, He met Cas' eyes as he felt himself about to go over, hoping that Cas would finish at the same time.

Cas yelled sharply before crashing his lips against Dean's mouth, moaning loud on his lips and Dean thrust erratically, licking at Cas' mouth as he felt himself coming. A groan tore his mouth open and left him panting into Cas' kiss.

He stroked them through the mess and the jolts of their hips, pushing up into his fist in random bursts. Dean bit Cas' bottom lip as the rush of his release and the feel of Cas' slick warmth all over him drove him close to crazy.

"Oh fuck… that was good. God, you're amazing…" He kissed Cas' roughly, moving his hand away from them and wiping it on the white duvet (oops). He pressed them together, not caring about the grossness that would get uncomfortable fast. For now it was good as he continued to rub his softening cock against the angel's.

"Well now I really want to have sex." Cas groaned, grabbing Dean's ass and grinding them together with nearly painful force.

Dean's exhale stuttered and he resumed kissing his angel.

"Ohh… let it go. We'll get there!" He smiled and kissed Cas. "I mean.. you're staying the week right?" He asked impatiently, and then a wave of panic overcame him—

"Holy shit! What about the hunt?! What about Sam?" _Fuck! _"I completely forgot." He admitted, stretching his mouth into a guilty frown.

Cas chuckled in response. "Taken care of." He assured.

Sweet relief.

"So… you're staying then?" He repeated. Trying not to let it show how damn excited he was.

"Yes, I plan to stay."

"Yeah!" He exclaimed and started peppering Cas with nearly annoying kisses all over his face.

Cas struggled under the strange attack. "Is this normal couple behavior?" He asked, his words light with laughter.

Dean shrugged. "I don't know." He kissed Cas on the mouth, slipping his tongue in for a taste. "I actually wasn't like this with Lisa. Although I thought Sam was in the pit and you were AWOL… so there's that. I was also a barely functioning alcoholic… _fuck_. Why did you leave me there?" He asked suddenly.

Cas held his face in his palm, swiping a thumb over his eyelid. "I should have come to you. I know that. I am sorry."

Dean regarded the angel with a tenderness that he wasn't sure he'd ever shown anyone.

"You have a lot of time to make it up to me." He smiled, biting his lip to try and temper the stupid grin.

**/\/\/\**

By the time the sun came up, they still had not fallen asleep, spending the time instead to chat; Dean telling Cas about random trivia on music or movies, and Cas telling Dean about the things he'd seen in his time. Dean began the dawn of the day more enraptured with this man than anything else he ever could have imagined. He was hooked, line and sinker.

* * *

**A/N: Gosh I love these idiots. YAY for SPN tonight! Review if ya like :) I have two more of these ficlets coming, but not sure when I will actually finish and post them, but rest assured, I am continuing with these ficlets.**


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